


Marcher

by wookieeTHEcookie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Military, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Romance, Women in the Military
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:52:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 49,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wookieeTHEcookie/pseuds/wookieeTHEcookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The most important thing to know about the Free Marches is that we're free. We determine our own destiny, and that pleases us"- A Marcher<br/>How does a young noble girl from the Free Marches turn into the woman destined to lead the inquisition to victory? </p><p>Set 10 years prior to the conclave explosion. At the age of 18, Laurel Trevelyan breaks tradition and refuses her parent's plea to join the Chantry. Her rebellious nature is evident when she secretly attends the Grand Tourney and competes in the archery competition where she meets an interesting young man. Little does she know, this meeting will change her future and set her on a path of heartbreak and betrayal. From this she will learn to build strength from her pain. No longer able to remain in the shadow of her parents' disappointment, she leaves home and begins the life of a soldier where she learns the skills that will be required of a future leader of the Inquisition. 10 years later and she awakens to the spark in her hand, the mark that she is forced to bear to pay for her sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rebel, Rebel

_"The most important thing to know about the Free Marches is that we're free. We determine our own destiny, and that pleases us"_

Laurel Trevelyan

She was named for a flower and by the look of her, you could see why. She held beauty, but like the flower she also held deep secrets. She had pretty petals, but beneath could lay a deadly poison or a saving grace given by Andraste herself. 

Born in 9:12 Dragon, on the 30th day of Drakonis to a Bann, she was the only girl in a brood full of boys. She was the last Trevelyan child, born 4th. To her parents, this meant no choice of fate. As the youngest, she was the "sacrifice"; their gift to the Chantry. It was Trevelyan tradition, long-standing in the line. Regardless of personal feelings or wishes, it was her responsibility to serve the Chantry in whatever way her parents would decide. The oldest was to be the heir and the youngest the servant. It was that simple. Except that it was not.

For the first time, at least in "recorded" history, a last born Trevelyan dared to defy her parents. Laurel suspected there had been more like her, but they had been conveniently left out of the record books, or erased from the family tree. She might as well have defied Andraste herself the way her parents had reacted. They were devastated. And angry, she'd never seen them so angry. For years she dreaded the name day she would turn 18 and be forced into a life of boredom. It wasn't that she wasn't religious, she was! But she knew that she didn't belong in the Chantry. It was just not the fate that was chosen for her by Andraste or the Maker or whatever was out there pulling on mortals' strings. So the day before her name day, she told them. She told them she would not be joining the Chantry, that she wouldn't be forced into a life she didn't feel she belonged in, whatever the consequences. Her parents were upset to say the least. She wasn't sure if they would have the heart to disown her, if she would be allowed to stay, or if they would drag her to the Chantry kicking and screaming. Whatever the consequences, Laurel knew in her heart that it would be better than the celibate life of a Priest, or the repetitive life of a Chanter. That couldn't be her.

Gared, her closest brother in age and bond, had become a Templar. She had confided in him over the years, the only person she could truly share her feelings with. Gared was the one to suggest the possibility that perhaps she had a choice in the matter. Maybe she didn't have to join the Chantry. He had always been concerned with her happiness and safety. He knew a Chantry life would make her nothing but unhappy. Though he would not say why, he had one request. Whatever decision she ultimately made, he had made her promise never to consider the path of a Templar. Only once had she brought up the possibility and he was livid. Gared had been a part of the order for 4 years now, enough time for Laurel to know he must have had a good reason to keep her away. Ever her protector, he had stood with her that day while breaking the news to their parents. He'd gotten permission to leave the Ostwick circle for a few days, able to convince his superiors he was desperately needed at home. Gared certainly had a way with words, usually able to sway the opinions of even the most stubborn. A skill that was particularly useful on that name day. Once again he had saved Laurel, able to convince their parents that her decision didn't break tradition. Technically he was the youngest son and one of the youngest Trevelyans, and his life was already dedicated to the Chantry through the Templar Order. He convince them he had already fulfilled their commitment to the Chantry, leaving Laurel free to pursue another life. But what life was that?

Laurel found it quite easy to figure out what she didn't want for her life, but she had spent so much of it so certain she was headed for doom and unhappiness that she never thought about what she actually did want for it. She was a noblewoman. If she didn't join the Chantry, she knew what the next expectation of her would be: a marriage. Maybe it wouldn't be quite so boring, not nearly the same as the Chantry would have been. And there could be certain perks to look forward to if she could at least find a man handsome enough. It certainly didn't take long for her parents to suggest the idea. By the time her 19th name day came a year later she had been forced to attend dozens of parties, numerous suitors had been invited to the Trevelyan estate, and she had been in 2 short-lived courtships, all her parents doing. She had already disappointed them once. Sweet Andraste, she wasn't about to do it again! She knew it would be time to make a decision soon, but no one had really shown much promise, no one was quite handsome enough, interesting enough, charming or witty enough. Not until that day.

It was the day of the Grand Tourney, the Marches' most celebrated event. Laurel had attended each year, and every year she looked on in envy and excitement as each participant competed. Her parents would  _never_ allow her to do something so improper for a lady, but that didn't sway her determination to one day compete, even if in a small event. She had learned a few fighting skills, mostly by following her older brothers to their lessons, but her parents had tried to make sure her training was very limited. She always followed Gared on the days of his lessons, and he always encouraged her. She believed if her parents had known the extent of her skills that they would have been quite shocked and probably quite angry. After all, they had groomed her for a nice, proper life in the Chantry. Her oldest two brothers Adam and Caleb had a tendency to pick on her when they were younger. Gared would always step in and incur their wrath upon himself and Laurel was determined to be able to defend herself one day. She would never forget the day in the stables Adam had crossed her once more and how he left with a bloodied nose. It was her first of many victories. Over the years she had learned how to fight, how to use a sword and daggers. Mostly though she had practice with the bow. The only real skill her parents would actually let her learn openly was archery.

The day of the tourney, Laurel already had her mind made up; she was entering a tourney contest today whether her parents liked it or not. She'd done so many bold things over the past year. She was feeling brave and she was determined to experience this once before she'd be bound to some boring Marcher noble who'd no doubt feel the same way as her parents about the behavior of a lady. That morning she dressed in a simple brown coat made of bear skin and put on an old cowl she'd bought from a dwarf selling things out of a trunk. Before breakfast she slipped out of her tent unnoticed, guessing it would take until the afternoon for anyone to notice she was gone. After purchasing a bow from an out of the way stand, she made her way to enter the archery event. It wasn't the most exciting contest to enter, but she was quite good at it and it was the safest bet. Her parents didn't watch the archery displays and she could come away without any evidence in the form of cuts or bruises. 

She approached the registration table. A large burly man with black greasy hair and a long burn scar across his cheek sat at the table with a quill and paper. He barely glanced up from his paper when she approached. Laurel froze, was she really doing this? He finally grew impatient with her silence and looked up at her with a look of sheer annoyance.

"Name and event?"

 _Shit!_ She hadn't thought of that, they announce each contestant's name, she couldn't register with her real name.  _What they don't know won't hurt them_.

"Are you deaf or dumb or a bloody mute? Name?"

She thought of something quickly, "It's..um..Lora". Well that wasn't very original she thought.

"And is Um your first name or your last name? Or am I safe in assuming your first name is Lora and you've forgotten your surname?"

'Um' wouldn't work would it? _No Laurel, don't be daft!_  Something else. She took a deep breath as she thought of something. "Yes, my name is Lora…ga…it's Lora Gareth and I'd like to enter the archery tournament."

"Oh really, I couldn't have guessed that from the large bow on your back. Next!"  _What an arse_.

It was an hour until the first qualifying event. Laurel made her way to practice field.  _Time to break in the new bow_. Laurel couldn't believe what she'd just done, what she was doing. It was quite liberating but also terrifying. She had no idea how she would answer if she were caught. She drew her first arrow from the quiver on her back, ready to take aim. "Lady Tevelyan?" a voice questioned just as she released her fingers from the string. Her arrow was sent veering off to the left, far from its mark.  _Maker's balls!_ She tried to look away, focusing on loading her next arrow, pretending the name was not her own. But again she heard her name. Laurel glanced up pulling back her cowl to see who spoke her name, but it wasn't a face she was familiar with. A young man stood at the next target leaning with both hands on an upright bow with its end dug into the dirt. He was quite a striking man. He was handsome and tall, the type of sculpted face she'd only seen in paintings or statues before. His smile was large and warm and a little bit crooked and his teeth were well taken care of. His hair was the color of chocolate with a slight curl. Dashing and well dressed, obviously a noble, but also a bit rugged and unshaven. He was attractive to say the least. She noticed her gaze was starting to linger.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

He chuckled. "Ah, apologies! We haven't actually spoken before, m'lady. I've seen you from a distance before, at a party once. In Wycome. I never worked up the nerve to speak with you and introduce myself."

He didn't seem like the shy type. "Well now is your chance." she teased. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name. May I know yours?"

"Of course." He smirked. "Oliver Hale. My father is minor Lord of Wycome. You've probably never even heard of me."

It was true, she had never heard his name before. But the Free Marches were large and she'd only been to Wycome a few times in her life. "Well, Oliver, I do apologize, but you quite startled me when you said my name. Although I am  _obviously_  not doing a very good job of it, I was trying to disguise myself," Laurel admitted as she laughed at herself.

He was intrigued. "And Lady Laurel, why would you be disguising yourself? Hiding from someone?"

"My family. I've entered the tournament and they would not approve. I suppose I was silly enough to think a cowl and registering under a false name would protect me," she said as she looked down towards her feet.

"Well m'lady, I admit I may have stared a bit longer than I should have when I saw an attractive young lady standing at the next practice stall. I'd been there for a few minutes before I determined where I'd seen you before," he almost too eagerly admitted.

 _Was he trying to flirt?_  She looked up from her feet, biting her lip, trying to hide her growing smile. "Oh, then I suppose my ruse may work after all if I can just keep the lechers from staring."

He laughed. "Not a word I've ever heard myself called before, but I suppose I deserved it. I'll take my leave m'lady and let you practice since I seem to be such a distraction," he chuckled pointing at her arrow in the dirt. He hesitated for a moment before leaving, looking back with a grin. "I do hope we meet again, perhaps on the games field. Maybe your arrow will find its target more easily, or perhaps I can use my charm and good looks as a distraction again."

 _Oh he is a charmer, isn't he?_  Laurel couldn't help but let out a giggle. "Well Lord...what was it... Hale? If you distract me too much you may end up with an arrow in your arse."

He let out a bellowing laugh. "Lady Tevelyan, I'd be honored to be shot in the arse by you if you swore to help me nurse the wound." He began to walk away and turned back again. "Please do find me again after the competition."

"Perhaps I will" she said. 


	2. Conquer

 

Fifth place. Laurel supposed it could have been worse. At least she'd hit the target each time. Despite her… _distraction_. And she was the top woman competitor. That had to count for something, right? The day was a success regardless. She'd conquered a fear. And the day wasn't really about winning for her at any rate.

She admitted to herself that there was yet another entity she wished to conquer before the day's end. Oliver Hale. He'd made an impression upon her on their first meeting. She had never found herself so drawn to a man. She hadn't made it quite far enough in the competition to face him at the targets, much to her disappointment. She'd watched him face his opponents after her elimination, and wondered if she was as big of a distraction for him and he was for her. He'd finished the competition placing third, high enough to earn a small prize and receive a notable mention.

It was just before noon when the competition was done and the area began to clear out. Laurel knew she needed to return to her family's camp soon to avoid suspicion, but she had not yet caught Oliver. She wondered if he was really as intent on their meeting as he had seemed. She couldn't leave without at least catching his eyes, just to make sure he saw her and had a chance to find her if he wished.

Her eyes searched the crowd for the curled chocolate hair. She had just seen him near the winner's circle talking with the other winners, but he had already gone. Perhaps their encounter had just been a passing flirtation.  _A shame really, I rather liked him_ , she thought to herself. As she turned to exit the field she looked back just to be sure she hadn't missed him. It was then that her feet betrayed her and led her straight into a sturdy mass causing her to fall hard to the muddied ground.

"Shit!" she swore as she attempted to push herself out of the mud. She was covered from head to toe.

The mass in her path had a hand. It reached to help her out of the muck. "Looking for someone m'lady?"

She looked up. It was Oliver.  _Of course it's him_. "Well, it looks as though the only thing I've found myself is a mud bath and a bit of shame and embarrassment."

"Here I thought you only needed practice at the bow, but it looks as though you could benefit from walking lessons as well," he couldn't help but laugh as he pulled her from the mud. She was quite a sight. "I do apologize for sweeping you off your feet," he said with a wink. He offered a handkerchief that she willingly took.

She laughed at herself as she wiped the mud from her face. "You asked me to find you after the competition and find you I did. I just had my own way of going about it." Her face turned to concern as she assessed the situation. "I'll never be able to sneak back to camp like this, I'll leave a trail of evidence."

"Not to worry Lady Laurel, my camp is close," Oliver motioned towards the North camps. "You can use one of our tents to clean up. One of my associates might even have a coat or a dress that will fit you."

It was in the opposite direction of her family's camp. She gave him a teasing smile. "I suppose you seem trustworthy enough, at least for a lecher. No funny business, or you might get that arrow in the arse I promised you."

"No funny business, on my honor," He laughed and began to lead the way.

"You said your associates?" she questioned. "You're not here with your family then?"

He was a bit taken aback. "No, I'm not. My parents are probably the only people in the Marches that don't attend the Tourney. And I think if they did attend I'd still prefer the company of others. I have a brother." A frown formed on his brow and his tone became bitter. "He's too busy kissing my father's arse and waiting for his seat of lordship to concern himself with such things as a Grande Tourney." He was looking at his feet, ashamed of his outburst. "If you couldn't tell, we…well… we don't get along. I travel with… friends."

"I see… friends are nice." She'd made it awkward, a special talent of hers. "I didn't mean to pry, I merely wondered whose tent I'd be imposing my muddied self upon."

He looked up, dismissing his anger and smiling once again. "I wouldn't dream of luring you into any tent other than my own dear lady."

She found herself laughing once again. "Don't forget, I said no funny business!"

His grin didn't seem very convincing.

* * *

_Maker's Breath! What have I done?_  It was already early evening. Laurel was sure her parents had sent out a search party by now. Probably alerted the authorities.  _My face is on a wanted poster by now on some Chanter's board!_  She had to go and she had to do it quickly.

"I don't normally do this, I swear!" she exclaimed as she sat up from the bed, looking around for her under things.

Her handsome bed mate was turned on his side, his face was smug as he watched her in her frantic state. "Not that you'd believe me if I told you, but neither do I," Oliver said.

He had to be lying. He probably did this all the time. "My parents probably have been looking for me for hours. I'm sure they think I've been kidnapped." She hurriedly slipped on her trousers dried with mud and searched for the ties in the back to tighten her top. "I don't know how I let you seduce me so easily Lord Hale," she said with a laugh.

"Oh!" he acted surprised. "I thought you'd seduced me Lady Trevelyan. You did ask for my help with the mud."

"Fine! We seduced each other. Although I'm not convinced you didn't have this whole thing planned out when you pushed me into that puddle," she said smartly.

Oliver rose from the bed with a laugh and stepped into his trousers. He fetched the borrowed coat he'd brought her to wear, holding it out for her to slip on. Laurel smiled up at him as she turned to put her arms through. He took the opportunity to tug her closer and turned her to face him. He had to kiss her again.

"I do hope you enjoyed the mutual seduction as much as I did. And I hope it hasn't put you off. I would like to see you again. We can take it more... slowly next time," he hoped to persuade her.

They'd only known each other for a day. She had never bedded a man so quickly. Her first time was with a boy she had known her whole life. The next man was one of her failed courtships, she had at least known him for a few months. Then Oliver. And this time felt unimaginably different than the others.

"Oliver, I have to go." She had no idea what her parents would have to say when she finally returned. She tried to think of what excuse she would use. She felt like a harlot and if they found her they'd probably think the same.

"Let me write to you. Or perhaps I could pay a visit to Ostwick." He said as if the idea had just popped into his head. She gave him a questioning look. "I'm serious, what we just had, we can't let something like this slip away. I'm sure we both depart in the morning, I don't want to let this go."

She laughed."Write to me? After that you want to write to me?" Regret was starting to set in, she couldn't look him in the eyes. "We barely know each other and I jump into bed with you. You don't think me a...well...a tart?"

He grabbed her by the chin, tilting her head up towards his face so that their eyes met. "Never m'lady," he said softly as he kissed her once again. "I know this was," he searched for the words, "...special. And we can change the 'barely know each other' part. I'm a great pen pal," he said raising his eyebrows as he smirked.

"I really have to go Oliver." She turned away to gather the rest of her things save the still mud soaked coat she'd worn to the competition. She considered his request for a moment, looking back just before exiting the tent. "I can at least say that I promise not to turn away any messengers. Whether I read any letters will be a matter up for debate."

He chuckled. "Of course you'll read them."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver sat near the window of his quarters. He was renting a room in a small tavern in some dirty backwoods town near the Western border of the Free Marches, trying to stay hidden. He had papers spread in front of him on a makeshift desk he'd constructed out of a few crates and a board. He always left his things strewn about. Not a very good habit for an assassin.

Contact had been made. He had found his way in with the family. The target's daughter. Although things had not went exactly as he planned. He had muddled things a bit, but it wasn't like he hadn't had a few _inappropriate trysts_  during jobs before. Sometimes in his line of work you had to mix business with pleasure to complete the assignment. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty this time. Something about her...

He pushed it out of his mind. Now was not the time to start having a heart. He had a job to do just as he always did. This was all about just pretending to have a heart until his opportunity to strike. He already passed the information on to his leaders, now all there was to do was wait for his invitation. His instructions were to kill the Bann...quietly. None of the family were to be harmed, and no evidence was to be left of the guild's involvement. He chuckled to himself wondering if what he'd done to the daughter qualified as harm. He felt the strings of guilt pull again. Had he crossed a line this time? He let his mind wander. The few days since he watched her go, he had thought of Laurel too many times. He didn't want to admit how much he actually had enjoyed being with her. Usually he was better at separating his feelings from his work. This job may turn out to be a bit trickier than most.  _Maybe I should write her?_

* * *

 

It had been two weeks since the Tourney and Laurel's parents still had her under guard. Supposedly they were her "escorts", but they made her feel like a prisoner. Her parents were disappointed in her, just as they always were. Yes she was 19, technically an adult, but they said they had to protect her. She suspected it was more so their reputation that needed protecting. Her mother was particularly concerned with appearances. It apparently wasn't proper for a young noblewoman to walk about anywhere unescorted, even her own home. If any letters arrived for her, they weren't being passed on.

She decided it was time to make a compromise with her parents. She would attend Chantry daily as a repentance if the guards were called off. It was enough to satisfy them. Unbeknownst to her parents, Ostwick's Chantry often served as a meeting place for Laurel and her closest brother Gared. It was a place they were both freely allowed to go. As a devout Templar serving the Chantry, Gared was expected to attend often. They would do a little chanting and praying, then lag around together for the rest of the afternoon. She hadn't seen him for nearly a month when she finally stepped into the Chantry courtyard and recognized the back of his head. His sandy blonde hair was always an object of jealousy for Laurel with her mousy brown. He was bent before a Priest receiving a blessing. He had been gone for weeks on a mission searching for a rumored apostate and when his party returned he had heard of the escorts traveling with his sister.

He stood from his blessing and turned around to see Laurel smiling widely at him in greeting. He shook his head with a laugh walking toward her. "Well, sister, I wasn't sure if I would ever see you again."

"Come now, isn't that a bit dramatic?" she said acting hurt as she took his arm and lead him on a walk about the courtyard.

Gared rolled his eyes and gave her a smug look. "So, what have you done this time?"

She made a sound as if she were offended with her mouth gaping. "Who says I've done anything? Maybe our parents are just lunatics."

"Oh that goes without saying." He laughed. "But an armed escort? You had to have pissed them off royally. What did you do, Laurel?"

"Well, I may have disappeared for a day and competed in an archery contest, and people of note may have seen me and recognized me.  You know, no big deal." She said matter-of-factly. She was looking down at her feet as they walked, arms crossed and holding her braid in one hand, brushing the ends on her lips. Her nervous tick. "I mean how was I to know Lady Cranton was an avid archery fanatic.They were just about to post a reward for my return on the Chanter's board when I showed up."

He shook his head. "Why am I not surprised? At least tell me you fared well in the competition."

"I wish I could say I had," she snickered. Laurel wasn't sure if she should tell him the rest, but if she couldn't talk to him about it there was no one else. "I did meet someone though," she said coyly.

Gared stopped dead in his tracks. He knew exactly what she meant by _met someone_. He was protective over his sister. If there was a new man in her life he had to know everything about him. "I expect a full report on this fellow. Would I approve?"

"Would you ever approve of anyone, Gared? Besides, I haven't even heard from him again. I suspect my messages may have been kept from me during my punishment so who knows if he's even interested anymore," she divulged. "Maybe someone could convince Mother and Father to let me have them? Tell them how I was a good little girl at the Chantry service?"

"Information first," he insisted.

"Only if you have a pint with me," she said with a grin. It wasn't often that she convinced the ever proper Templar to be seen in such a shocking establishment as a tavern.

He laughed. "Fine, have it your way, but only one."

* * *

 

Gared had worked his magic. Three letters had arrived for Laurel by the time her privileges were returned. Two were from Oliver, and the last one was written only two days ago. He was equally as charismatic in his letters as he was in person. He was charming and polite and engaging. And he wanted to see her again.

A letter arrived for her parents as well. Oliver's parents had written them, requesting that their son meet their daughter.  _He was a young man of 24, soon looking for a wife_  they'd said. This wasn't an unusual letter for them to receive from other noble houses hoping to find a match for their sons. She was surprised, wondering if he had reconciled with his parents for just this reason. Laurel of coursed accepted, trying not to seem too eager in front of her Mother and Father. He was to arrive in two weeks.

* * *

 

He received his reply. The letter he had written pretending to be the parents of 'Lord Oliver Hale of Wycome' had worked. He had been invited to the estate and would travel to Ostwick soon. Oliver couldn't help but feel a small ping of excitement overshadowed only by guilt.

He had continued to write Laurel, the daughter of the Bann. The letters he had received from her were interesting to say the least. She was exactly the same as she had been in person. He told himself the correspondence was all just part of the ruse, and that he needed to continue it to ensure suspicions didn't arise. Still, the line between real life and pretend was becoming too blurred. He needed to get her out of his head, he was becoming too attached. He was an assassin, a cold blooded killer. He had never failed a mission, the guild always trusted him to complete the job without question. Especially jobs of this nature, those requiring discretion. He knew when he saw her he would only become more confused. He turned to the drink that night, as he often did in his times of stress. This time he couldn't fight the craving.


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver sighed at his table, alone in the tavern, a drink sitting before him. It was only the early afternoon but he was already drinking. As per usual. He stared down at a half empty pint, trying decide if he would need another to make it through the night ahead. It had been months of putting on a charade, a charade that was becoming less and less an act. He'd never had an assignment of this nature, one that took him so deep for so long. He was an assassin. Most of his jobs were quick. A few days, in and out, someone was dead and he and the guild got paid. Simple. This wasn't simple, it was becoming increasingly more complicated. His assignment wasn't even to kill the bann anymore, that part had changed. He had been discovered and the Bann had struck a deal. What he was doing now was even more devious. He'd kill to... well...kill something! This job was changing him...she was changing him.

 

* * *

 

 

Laurel stood in front of her wardrobe, grimacing at the gaudy gown hanging on its front. She was being forced to wear the ghastly thing that night. Her mother had picked it and it wasn't even remotely her taste. She preferred more simple and plain clothing, the type that made one blend in, not stand out. This dress was too bright and too fussy and sure to draw attention, which was most definitely unwanted. It had a corset and even worse a petticoat, making it even larger and harder to maneuver in. She remembered a time when she would have loved to have such a gown, but the whole thing seemed so superficial now. Not worth the discomfort. She opened the wardrobe to reveal the mirror on the inside door, stepping back to look at herself, scrutinizing her flaws, evaluating her beauty. Her hair had grown long and dark, less mousy than before. She admired it now. She was glad that she could at least do her hair and face the way she liked tonight. Her mother always tried to convince her she needed a servant to do it for her but she much preferred doing things herself.  _Mother probably has servants that wipe her arse for her_ , she chuckled to herself. Laurel walked over and took a seat at her dressing table, picking up a brush and sliding it through her hair, catching tangles all the way down it. She looked in the mirror as she turned her face side to side, deciding how much makeup it required. She would keep it simple as she usually did.  _No reason to add clash to this ghastly dress_. She wondered what Oliver would think when he saw her. She imagined he would probably laugh.

Since his first visit, Oliver had stayed in Ostwick nearly every other week to continue seeing Laurel, returning to Wycome for brief business and a visit with his family here and there. He kept his promise to take things more slowly and they hadn't slept together again after that first day they'd met. Her parents had taking a liking to Oliver as well, charmed as much by him as she was. She remembered a month or so into the courtship one night her father had called Oliver into his study. She knew it was time for the "intentions" talk. They stayed in there for hours. When they emerged, they seemed to have a new found understanding. Having been properly screened by her father, she felt confident it was safe to let her feelings blossom. They had gotten to know each other over their courtship. Things seemed perfect for the most part, though there were times Oliver seemed to withdraw from her, but he always came back.

The year was at its end and the time had come for the celebration of First Day. As title holders of the city, the Trevelyan family was expected to attend Ostwick's gathering to commemorate the past year with its people. The highlight of events was the First Day ball they would attend that night. Everyone of importance would be there, including the Teyrn and other Banns of Ostwick. That meant Laurel had to be on her best diplomatic behavior. So she had to wear the big fancy gown because everyone else did, she had to present herself as poised and polished, and be an absolute master of etiquette. It was exhausting, but she knew how to play the part well. Her parents had made sure of that in her upbringing. They had always wanted her to pursue a life in the Chantry, but before even that, she was the daughter of a Bann and expect to behave as such. There were times she tried to fight it, but she knew how to turn it on when the occasion required. This year was the first year Laurel actually had anyone to accompany her to the ball. She knew Oliver's knack for charm would work to her advantage tonight. The ball would be one of the first big social events she and Oliver would attend together. Laurel looked forward to that aspect of the night. She felt her heart leap just a bit as she thought about seeing him as she sat in front of the mirror now patting rouge on her face. It would help her through the night to have someone by her side to secretly snicker with her at the more lofty nobles in attendance. She laughed at the thought of the ridiculous costumes some of them would wear, her awful dress would probably be one of the more conservative ensembles. Her Great-Aunt Lucille would undoubtedly be one of the most garish of the lot, she certainly liked to go all out when it came to parties. 

Oliver was again in Wycome, but was supposed to arrive in Ostwick just before the start of the festivities. Just as Laurel finished pinning her hair into a low braided bun, she heard a knock on the door. Her mother walked in without waiting for an invitation, the loud sounds of her heels clacking on the floor under her. "A note has just arrived for you, dear."

Laurel sighed, rolling her eyes. "Thank you mother, but honestly what's the point of knocking if you're just going to come in anyway."

Her mother ignored the comment, handing Laurel the message and stepping behind her to examine her hair. She started smoothing the top of her head and tucking loose ends of her hair behind her ears. "This is how you're wearing your hair, wouldn't you think it would be prettier if..."

"I'm wearing the dress! Isn't that enough," she sassed. 

"Have it your way," her mother said throwing her hands up in frustration. "Who is the message from? A little love note from Oliver perhaps," mother chuckled to herself.  

Laurel broke the seal and opened it. "It is from Oliver." Her face dropped slightly. "It's not good news, he's been delayed and wants me to go to the ball without him." She was disappointed. She had hoped to have a bit of protection with her beau at her side, but she would have to do without one. Now she was dreading the night. Without an escort, she didn't have an excuse to turn down the endless dance invitations that would come. The men who asked her to dance were always old and unsightly, or if they were handsome they were completely insufferable and far too grabby.

"Oh I'm sorry, dear, how unfortunate," she said coldly. Her mother didn't deal with emotion very well, seeing someone else in pain only made her uncomfortable. She refrained from showing emotion at all cost. "I shall take my leave so you can finish getting dressed. Would you like me to send someone up, or..?"  

"No thank you, mother. I can manage on my own." 

After attempting to don the gown alone, Laurel finally surrendered to the dress and called a servant in to help her, ordering the elf not to tell her mother she'd ask for help from one of them. She was finally properly adorned and outfitted, so with an exasperated breath she left her chambers to meet her parents and her brother Adam in the lower foyer. Gared would unfortunately not be in attendance since the circle didn't usually let the Templars or mages leave for such things save select representatives, but her two oldest brothers Adam and Caleb would be there. They weren't as fun as Gared, but they would have to do in both Gared and Oliver's absence. Caleb was married and would arrive with his wife, but Laurel and Adam would accompany the Bann and their mother and be formally announced with them.

The Trevelyan's arrived as a unit and were announced as they entered the ballroom. Every year was the same.  _Blah blah blah, title title title, wave and smile._  Laurel could barely get through the archway of the entrance before the first invitation came. She felt like she did nothing but dance with unpleasant company while faking a smile the first few hours of the party. Her cheeks and her feet were both starting to ache. At least there was the wine to keep her company. Although she did have to be careful. She knew her parents were watching out of he corners of their eyes keeping tabs on her intake.  _They take the bloody fun out of everything_ , she thought rolling her eyes. The night was beginning to wear on Laurel. These type of occasions thrilled her when she was younger, but now she only felt alone in a room full of people and completely out of her own skin. She was about to begrudgingly accept yet another invitation when she finally saw Oliver appear through the back entrance. She apologized to her fellow guest and excused herself, trying not to sound so relieved to be rid of their company.

Oliver waited near the back, he looked handsome in his dress tunic. As she walked closer she noticed something wasn't quite right. He looked a bit uneasy. He wasn't at all himself. She was concerned.

"Oliver, what's wrong?" she asked with her brow furrowed. He looked almost ill. "Are you well, do you need to leave?"

"I think perhaps I do. Some air might help." he admitted with a sigh. He was distressed about something. And sweating.

Laurel looked back at her parents, they were engrossed in their own affairs for once. "I don't think anyone will notice if we've gone." She motioned him outside and took his arm. They walked together out to the gardens, the music and laughter of the party now muffled behind the garden doors. The night air or perhaps the quiet seemed to have an immediate calming effect on Oliver, he was at least a little less agitated. She had never seen him this way. He was acting strange.

"Tell me what's wrong," she pleaded.

"I...I'm just not one for parties," he sighed. She suspected that wasn't it. He was worried about something. She had known from their first meeting that he didn't like it when she pried so she left it alone. Whatever had delayed him had been upsetting. "Let's just go somewhere quiet together," he said wrapping his arms around her waist.

"We  _ARE_  somewhere quiet together, halfwit." She said with a hiccup and a laugh, noticing now that the wine had gone to her head. "Sorry, I think I've let myself get a bit tipsy."

He pulled her close and kissed her, giving her a look she couldn't discern, but his mood had changed. He was amused with her display of drunkenness. "Somewhere more private then. Your place isn't far," he said raising his eyebrows, "and it's very likely empty." His smile was devious, like the smile he had given her back at the tourney many moons ago when he promised "no funny business." Oliver was back. She wasn't sure what changed but maybe he finally wanted her again, at least she hoped he did. It had been many long months of courtship with no reward, it was time for some funny business.

Laurel and Oliver left the ball unnoticed. When they arrived the manor was empty just as predicted. Even most servants were allowed to attend the First Day celebrations, so staffing was at a minimum. Oliver lead her up to her quarters, he knew exactly where he was going and what he would do when he got there. He pushed Laurel against the door and kissed her before they went inside. Before the door even shut behind them, they were madly peeling off their clothing, as if it would burst into flames if it they couldn't take it off fast enough. The look on Oliver's face was still strange, it was desperate. He had never kissed her with such purpose.

The elaborate gown Laurel was forced to wear didn't make things easy, Oliver couldn't wait for it to come off any longer. He pushed her to the bed with her petticoat still remaining. He lifted the skirt and touched her between her legs and took her exposed breast in his mouth. Just like before, this wasn't a part of the plan. She let out a moan as he touched her, she was already ready for him. He had been with her before, but it was different now. There were feelings involved. He let himself get too attached, but he didn't care tonight. It would be over soon and he had to have her once more before it all ended. He couldn't hold himself back any longer, he slid himself inside, wrapped himself in her warmth. He was making love to her, this wasn't just sex, perhaps for the first time for him ever. He finally admitted to himself that his feelings for her were real, that he loved her. But she would never know. Because he loved her, he had to leave. Tomorrow he would try to say goodbye, but tonight he was letting go.

 

* * *

 

Laurel awoke in the morning in her bed alone, only the horrid dress she wore the night before crumpled on the floor to keep her company. She knew Oliver couldn't have stayed, but that didn't keep her from feeling a bit disappointed at waking to his absence. Their night had been one of passion, but something still had not seemed right when he'd left. She needed to check on him. She made up her mind she would try to get him to talk, to make sure everything was alright. Something had upset him before their rendezvous and he was still thinking about it after.

Whenever he stayed in Ostwick Laurel knew Oliver stayed in the same local tavern. He didn't feel it was proper to stay at the Trevelyan estate and he didn't know any of the other families of Ostwick. She made an appearance at the breakfast table in the morning, attempting to nurse a headache caused from the wine the night before. She left in the late morning to find him, taking the long way to admire the plant growth on the city's walls as well as avoid the Chantry.

It was before noon so the tavern was quiet when she arrived, most of the drunks from the night before had gone home or staggered to their tavern beds, though a few could be seen still passed out under the tables. One stout old drunkard was still hanging on though, singing Maker knew what in the corner, griping his bottle and his seat. He'd be on the floor soon. The barkeep knew her, this was where she snuck pints with Gared. He pointed her to Oliver's room, where she found he was out. She questioned the barkeep, who hadn't seen him return at all that night or in the morning for that matter. She convinced the housekeeper to let her into his room to wait for him to return.

Laurel had never actually been in his quarters before, had never seen how he kept them. She walked around inspecting the room. He didn't have many personal things. No nick-knacks or tokens, no mementos from home. There were a few pieces of clothing thrown on the furniture, some boots were sticking out from under the unmade bed, and there were several candles on the desk burnt almost to stubs. She thought he must have stayed up nights reading or doing business. Laurel couldn't help her curiosity. She walked over to the desk to have a closer look at it, there were papers strewn all about. She looked around the room nervously, determining he definitely wasn't here before being nosy. Biting her lip with a grin, she sat and picked up a few pieces of the parchments and began reading Oliver's letters.


	5. Chapter 5

Laurel read the parchments over and over, hoping the words on the pages would transform if she just read them differently. That they would have a different meaning if she only looked at them more clearly. They didn't change. The letters said what they said. She clutched the papers in her hands wrinkling them, shaking, afraid to admit what they meant. Afraid to admit what she had fallen for. She felt naive and small, a silly little girl. She had allowed herself to be used. To be violated. Oliver had deceived her, and worse her father was involved. His name was signed on some of the letters she held in her hands. There was even a contract. Laurel sunk to the floor, dropping to her knees with her back to the door, she couldn't even cry, only stare at these damned letters. She sat and waited, nearly comatose. When would he walk through the door? What would he say? What would she say? Would he kill her right there? She didn't care anymore. She wanted to die right there on the floor. He'd be doing her a favor ending it right there. She didn't know who the man even was.

It felt like hours had passed when the sound of a turning lock finally hit her ears. Oliver was returning to his quarters, unsuspecting of what was waiting behind the door for him. By the time the door crept open Laurel had begun pacing the floor becoming impatient of the wait, still clutching the parchments and unwilling to leave the room before she could confront him.

"Laurel? What are you doing here?" he was surprised to walk in to see her standing in his quarters.

Her back was turned to him and she was silent, she stood in the center of the room with her arms crossed. Laurel turned to face him, but she couldn't bring herself to even look at him. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. She stood clutching papers in her hands, saying nothing. The letters he'd left out were in her hands. He stood there still griping the door handle, afraid to say anything. He swallowed hard and tried to find the words, but he couldn't. They both remained silent, both staring at the floor for what felt like an eternity. Laurel finally looked up, finally releasing the letters letting them drop to the floor. Oliver met her gaze.

Laurel looked at him wide eyed, staring her demon in the eyes for as long as she could stand. She shook her head, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together, trying to keep her composure. She would not cry in front of him.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice quivering. He had no reply, he only swallowed, afraid to speak. She walked over to the desk leaning over it, looking at the papers that still remained on its top. She repeated herself, this time her voice raging. "Who are you? Who the fuck are you?" she screamed as she swept the remaining letters to the floor in one enraged motion, knocking the chair at the desk across the room. She took a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure once again. "Why have you done this to me? Why did I deserve...?" Her voice broke. She gripped the sides of the desk shaking her head. She was still trying not to cry, beginning to shake from her anger.

"Laurel, please just listen," he bellowed, walking towards her with a pleading hand raised reaching for her. He stopped himself, careful not to get too close. "Give me a chance to explain." he begged.

"Oh I will  _listen_! You  _will_  explain! I will hear  _everything_!" she growled as she turned from the desk glowering at him. She stared at him, hands clutched at her sides waiting for her demands to be met. Waiting to hear his answer.

Oliver hung his in shame head again. He loved her but she would never believe it, he didn't want it to happen this way. He walked further into the room and took a seat on the end of the bed, burying his head in his hands. He was ready to tell her the truth. He raised his head, rubbing his face from forehead to chin, trying to think of what he could say, how he could explain everything. "Laurel I'll tell you everything. Anything you want to know. But first know that I do care for you."

She scoffed at him, shaking her head and crossing her arms. "That's a laugh."

"I swear it," he pleaded in desperation, praying she would believe him. He was ready to admit all of it, every last sin. "It started off as a job, as a game. But...I fell for you," he confessed, his voice cracking. Laurel said nothing, just listened. Once again looking away, hugging her own body and a hand raised covering her mouth. He continued, as calmly as he could manage. "I'm sure you gathered what I do. I'm an assassin. I work for the Argon Guild, we're mercenaries, assassins, bards. Everything I told you about my family was true, just not my name. My family disowned me. I was a drunk and a womanizer and a petty criminal, by the time I was 17, I was living on the streets. When they turned me away, I joined the guild, they recruited me. The guild used me for my title, my knowledge of nobility. I used it to gain entry into parties and noble households across Thedas. Most of the time I was just there to steal jewels or gather information. It took a few years but they eventually trained me as an assassin, trained me to kill by whatever means was necessary for the job. Poison, a dagger to the heart, an arrow shot from the shadows. I was a heartless bastard." He shook his head at his own words. He was ashamed, he never thought she would have to hear this. "I was sent to kill the Bann, to kill your father."

"And what in the Void did that have to do with me?" she demanded.

The way she was looking at him now, with hate, it stung worse than any poison ever could, but he had to go on. "You were my in. I followed you that day at the Tourney. Our spies knew your family would be there. You were the first person I saw leave the tent. But I didn't expect you to be..well...you! I didn't plan to sleep with you that day, I was only supposed to befriend you or one of your brothers. It just... happened! I tried to convince myself it was all just a part of the game, but it wasn't." He gave her a moment to take in what she had heard so far. She remained quiet while the blood drew away from her face, she turned away, her ability to look at him wavering again. He knew what she was hearing would only get worse. "Your father, he knew almost from the beginning why I was there. Months ago!" She turned to look at him for a moment in disbelief before turning away again. "He knew my parents, he had met me as a boy and recognized me, he knew what had happened to me and there were rumors of who I was working for. That day he called me into his study, he laid it all out on the table. Instead of killing me or turning me in to the guards, he offered to pay the Argon Guild to break the contract and allow him to hire me for his own purposes." He swallowed hard, waiting for some kind of reaction, some kind of response. Laurel just stood there, stoic and unmoving., perhaps too shocked to move.

Several moments passed before she could muster the strength to speak. She looked at him once again, only for a fleeting moment. Her voice was hoarse and low and her lips barely moved. "What purpose?" She wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

"H...He...He asked me to...continue our courtship." The words were beginning to burn his throat as they crept out. They felt like daggars scraping his insides. He wished they were. "He didn't say why at first, he only asked me to act as if nothing had changed." It was getting harder still to continue. "A month ago, he finally told me what he wanted from me. He wanted me to hurt you somehow. To break your heart. He didn't care how. He just wanted you to change your mind, to run to the Chantry. He said it was what you were meant for and he'd be willing to do whatever it took to get you there of your own free will. He thought maybe if I left you heartbroken, you'd give up on love, that he could make his move to convince you to join the Chantry."

Laurel was dizzy, weakened by what she was hearing, she had to sit. She dropped to the floor, holding her stomach trying not to vomit. "That's what this is about?" she roared. "The fucking Chantry?" Her mind was racing, searching for a way for all of it to make sense. Is this really all she meant to her parents? Still their precious sacrifice, still a piece of property to be tithed to Andraste?  _Fuck Andraste!_

Oliver stood from the bed and went to her side, crouching beside her reaching for her hand. "I don't understand why, Laurel. I just know I couldn't follow through, I can't do what he has asked of me. I don't want to hurt you any longer."

She snatched her hand away and stood up, looking down at him and hitting him across the cheek with the back of her hand. "Then go to him," she demanded. "Go to him and tell him you're done with his charade and then leave! I never want to see you again. And tell him I know everything."

* * *

 

Laurel shoved her way through the doors of the tavern, trying to catch her breath. Was this really happening, was what just happened real? She leaned on the wall for a moment wiping sweat from her brow, looking for something.  _The bushes, I need the bushes!_  She leaned over the shrubbery, expelling all the contents of her stomach, feeling no better. She imagined many a drunk had used these bushes for the same purpose. She wiped her mouth, staggering away. She had only one place in mind to run. She had to find Gared.

It was Saturday, he wouldn't be at the Chantry today. If he were, Laurel didn't know if she could bring herself to step foot inside its walls. She had never wanted less to do with the blasted place than she did at this moment. Today was usually reserved for the Templar's physical training at the Ostwick circle. She headed to the circle's sparring grounds where Gared would likely be leading a few recruits. When she reached the grounds they were empty. The trainers and their charges had just broken for their midday meal and were gathered in the mess hall. She swung the door of the hall open, clanking it against the wall loudly. A few heads turned in her direction at the sound, but the room was too loud and too crowded for most of the room to take notice. Laurel couldn't find Gared's face in the crowd and she begun to panic. As she turned to leave, a strong hand gripped her arm. Gared had seen her right away and rushed to her. If she were here he knew something must be wrong. The look on her face only confirmed his suspicions.

Laurel felt the tug on her arm and turned to see his familiar face. She tried to stay strong until they were somewhere more private, but the tears were already welling up in her eyes. Seeing his face only caused them to flow freely. Gared pulled her into the kitchen and then its larder, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd of Templars. He grabbed her by the shoulders trying to see her, her face covered by her hair as she hung her head and sobbed into her hands, blubbering. "Laurel, what's happened? Look at me and tell me what's happened?" She only continued to sob, unable to find the words. He wrapped his arms around his sister pulling her close and letting her bury her head into his chest while she wept. After a few moments, Laurel finally pulled herself together enough to speak. She looked up at Gared taking a deep breath and turning away, collecting her thoughts.

"It's father," she sputtered.

"What's happened to him?" he asked in a panic, grabbing her arm and spinning her to face him.

"No," she hissed. "It's what he's done! What he tried to do to me!" She wasn't crying anymore, she was enraged.

"What?" Confusion set upon his face, searching for her meaning. Wondering what their father could have done to rattle her so much.

Laurel shook her head. "Oliver...he...he was an assassin and he knew, father knew! He was supposed to kill father, but father hired him to swindle me instead. To try to get me to join the Chantry. None of it was real... " Her voice was unsteady. "He...he wanted me to join that badly, he was willing to sacrifice my happiness, my sanity. I mean so little to him that he'd try to fool me into joining the Chantry out of heartbreak." She was quiet again, covering her mouth to quiet her cries.

"Laurel, this doesn't make sense," he said shaking his head. Gared swallowed hard, processing what he had heard. He never knew Laurel to overreact, to draw conclusions without proof. He had no choice but to accepted her truth without question. "I...I'm so sorry."

She looked up at him, wiping the tears from her face. "Gared, I'm leaving," she murmured. "I don't know where I'll go but I can't go back home." She sounded weak but he knew her words took strength.

"I don't suppose I could make you change your mind." She shook her head. "I understand," he whispered choking back tears. He looked down at her and wrapped his arms around her once more, stroking her hair. "Please just swear to me you'll let me know when you get wherever you're going, that I'll always know where you are and that you're safe." He let go, looking her in the eyes. She nodded and walked out the door. He stood there in shock, unable to move.

* * *

 

Laurel had made up her mind to leave, without a word to anyone but Gared. If Oliver had truly done as he promised, her father would be occupied and she could make one last stop at the estate. She would gather some belongings, break into the treasury and slink out through the back garden entrance.

Laurel made her way to her quarters, passing her brother Adam on the staircase without speaking or looking up, him barely noticing her presence. She packed a satchel with a few pieces of simple clothing and changed into a warm brown coat and sturdy leather boots, focused only on the task at hand. The vault was in the basement which she easily slipped to unnoticed, her focus driving her stealth. It took longer than she hoped to pick the lock, but the vault was open and she stuffed as much coin as she could carry into the satchel.

She stood in front of the entrance to the garden, taking a breath and finding her resolve to make the final steps out the door. As she turned the handle, she heard a voice say her name. It was her father, standing at the top of the staircase on a balcony, his face in shock. Laurel slammed the door behind her and started to sprint towards the back gate, the gravel of the garden path crunching beneath her feet. She darted through the hedges, hearing the door open and shut behind her. Her father was coming after her. She was only yards away from the gate when something was in her path, causing her to come crashing to the ground. Her face flew into the gravel, the rocks digging into her skin as she cried out in pain. She pushed herself up to her knees, wincing at the wounds on her hands and feeling blood trickle from her brow. She turned to see what she had stumbled over. She was not prepared for what she saw. Laurel shrieked back in horror. It was a body she had fallen over, and surrounding it was a pool of blood. Whimpering, she crawled to the body, praying that it was not who she imagined. She turned it over to find Oliver's lifeless body, his throat slit. She screamed, cursing the Maker.  _Maker, NO!_  She cradled his head in her lap and began to weep into his chest. She hated him and what he did, but he had only a few hours ago been someone she thought she cared deeply for. She looked up to see her father standing over them. She knew he was the one responsible for this, for everything that had happened to her.

"You did this!" she wailed. "Don't think...for a second...I don't know you did this! I will never forgive you." She cried over his body.

He swallowed. "It was for your own good," he said coldly.

Laurel leaned over, still crying, placing a kiss on Oliver's cold forehead, saying her goodbye. She gathered her bag,and without another word and without looking back, left through the gate. Her father standing there emotionless, watching her go.


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you say, Shanty? Is this better or worse than the night we spent in Wildervale?" Laurel quipped as she untied her boots.

Shanty was the only other tolerable female of the regiment, that made her the closest thing to a friend Laurel had. She sat at the other end of the tent in a puddle of water, drops of rain leaking overhead through the roof, wetting her short fiery red hair. Shanty was from Starkhaven and her accent was thick. "Both are shit, but I'd rather be wet than eaten alive by whatever the Hell those insects were. Quite a nasty shock waking up covered in them. Thought they'd carry me away."

 

 

"True, but when the bare asses went flying around, it did add a bit of charm to the evening." Laurel reminisced.

Both women laughed. "I don't know about you, but I couldn't get my clothes off fast enough, those things were inside of everything, even had to blow a few of them out of my nose." They looked up and a few of their tent mates stirred in their sleep as thunder clapped in the sky and shook the canvas of their tent. One of the men stuck between them sat up in frustration and threw something towards Shanty. "Would you two stop talking about taking your clothes off and go the fuck to sleep?"

"Well Gareth, suppose we should do what he says."

Night had finally come. Rain had been falling long enough to soak the ground. It was starting to seep in underneath the thin liner of Laurel's roll as well, the others near the outside of the tent were already sleeping in puddles.  _Another night in a soaking wet bedroll, my favorite._  Despite the discomfort, Laurel knew she would have no trouble finding sleep tonight. The conditions were not something they weren't used to. It had been a long day of marching and training for the regiment, and she'd never been so tired. When she'd left Ostwick, this is where he heart and her feet had eventually led her. To a rainy night, now just a soldier in a tent among her comrades. No title, no politics, no trace of her old life, leaving behind the betrayal, trying to leave behind the pain.

Two years ago Laurel had joined the Free Army. The blight in Fereldan had just ended, fear of its spread and an influx of refugees had initiated the organization of the Free Armies once again. After what had happened, Laurel could no longer suffer the world of her parents, she wanted nothing to do with that life. So she ran, gave herself a new name. She used the name she had used once before, that day at the competition. Effectively denouncing her title and family name. She'd rather be nothing. She instead went by Lora Gareth. Her fabricated surname was a tribute to the only person she thought ever really loved her, her brother Gared. Looking around at her brothers and sisters in arms, it hurt a little not being able to be entirely truthful with the people she'd now lay her life down for. She doubted they would really care who she was, but it was still a lie. These people had made her happier than she had been in a very long time.

She hadn't ended up in the Army right away. In the first months of her departure, she wandered from city to city, surviving on the small amount of coin she'd stolen from her parents' treasury. She stayed in parts of cities where people wouldn't know her, the more dingy parts that nobles avoided, where she could hide who she was. Living out of taverns wasn't easy, she'd spent her 20th name day alone in a corner, drinking herself into a stupor. If a city seemed too dangerous, she would stay in the brothel where the madams were usually willing to offer her a bit of protection. She used her pretty face to get men to give her things: coin, food, paying for a night in a warm bed that she'd never allow them to share. If they didn't give then she got them drunk and stole their money after they passed out. She had no remorse. The world was her enemy then, and she spent a lot of time feeling angry at it, it was sort of a dark lonely time for her.

Eventually there was a small beacon of hope. In Kirkwall's Darktown, she'd heard tales of the Hero of Fereldan. How unbelievable it had been that she was a woman turned Grey Warden, and a noblewoman at that. It was inspiring. Maybe nobles weren't all bad after all, but she still wanted nothing to do with them. It gave her aspirations of maybe someday doing something good with her own life. It was there on the streets of Kirkwall, when she was down to her last coin that a recruiter had spotted her. He'd seen her throw a punch at a man in the tavern after he got too grabby, figured she was strong. He called her feisty. _If he only knew!_  He was looking for true Marchers to defend the cities should the need arise, and wanted to know if she was interested in standing up for the cause. His promise of training, coin, and purpose drew her in. That and the fact that they'd just banned her from the tavern for her little display and she had no where else left to go.

She signed a contract the next day. She lied on her application to get in, had documents forged. She didn't want to make it easier for her parents to find her. And if the Army had known she had a title they would have made her an officer, and she was most definitely not interested in that. She just wanted to blend in and get the best training she could get. She wanted to learn how to fight, how to really fight, not just play-swinging a blade at an opponent that would never really strike. She was angry at the world. She thought it would somehow feel better if she could hit something, or even…kill something.

A week later Laurel found herself in Hambleton, the home of the training grounds for the new Free Army. She hadn't kept Gared as informed as she'd promised, but she wrote to him as soon as she had settled in at the camp. The first day of training started a few days after she arrived. Over the months her training was intense. From the moment training began the recruits were taught discipline, at first they did nothing but stand in formation at attention the entire day. The recruits stood there for hours, never allowed to move or speak, barely allowed to breathe. They wondered if they would ever be allowed to move. Standing there waiting for something to happen was maddening. Some recruits didn't make it past the first day. Then they started their physical conditioning. They ran, they marched, they ran some more, and the worst part were the push-ups in the dirt. A drill master would step on their backs, pushing their faces into the ground while shouting profanities in their ears. They were made to feel worthless, yet somehow ended up better and stronger. For the next month they learned how to follow commands, how to move as one body, how to wear the uniform, all the small intricacies that come with being a soldier in an organized army.

As she lay there listening to the rain, she thought about one of the inspections they'd had, about the second month into their training. The regiment stood there in formation. Each recruit stood at attention as the drill master asked each a series of questions. Questioning their purpose and their integrity, trying to break them, but also perhaps trying to find the best of the lot. That was the day Laurel decide she rather liked Shanty. Shanty was a smartass and didn't hold back and she liked that. Laurel remembered her turn, how she had stood silent and still, keeping her bearing when the drill master approached her. He looked her up and down for a moment, silently scrutinizing her stance and her uniform. The man was stocky and his head was bald, and he had a strong Fereldan accent. She had wondered at one point why a Fereldan would be leading a regiment of a Marcher Army. She no longer questioned it. He had more than shown his troops that he had the heart of a true Marcher.

"Soldier Gareth," he said licking his teeth.

"Reporting as ordered, Drill Master!" she said attempting to sound strong.

"Why have you joined my army? Why do you think you are good enough to be a part of MY regiment? Tell me how such a pretty faced little cunt ended up here and not some dirty brothel sucking cock for a living! And don't give me some shit about serving your country, give me a real answer!"

She thought for a moment. "Someone pissed me off," she answered. "I wanted to kill something, Drill Master! I hoped you'd show me how to do it."

"Oh, you'll get to kill something alright, or something is going to kill you first! You'd better have the balls to follow through with it," he spat. "Everyone take note not to piss off Private Gareth, she might go on a murderous rampage," he said, daring the recruits to crack a smile. He seemed satisfied with her answer. "And what makes you good enough to be here?"

She broke her forward gaze, only moving her eyes and no other muscle. Her eyes shifted to the side to look him the face. "I'm not, Sir. Not yet."

He lunged towards her, pressing a finger in the middle of her forehead. They were eye to eye, noses almost touching. She thought he might bite off her nose at any moment. He whispered. "Good answer. If you've got what it takes, I will make you good enough."

He had kept his promise. That day they were finally given their weapons: a sword and a round shield. Over the next weeks the regiment learned how to handle them, how to strike with a sword or do as much damage with a shield. How to kill. Laurel felt stronger, more confident, less broken each day. And for the first time ever, she felt important. More worthy than a title could ever make her. She was a part of something bigger than herself, something she chose to be a part of.

As she laid in the cold and wet tent that night more than a year later, she wondered if that day to kill would come soon. If she could really bring herself to drive her blade into a man's flesh. Her regiment had only fought a few straggling darkspawn near the south borders. Laurel had fought and killed a few of them herself and she hoped the experience would make it easier when she did have to kill something less monstrous. These darkspawn were strange creatures. She was puzzled how a thing could be so horrifying, but almost still look like a man. And how did they have the ability to hold a sword or a bow? Killing didn't feel good, not like she thought it would. She couldn't remember why she thought it would help. The anger was still there, though more contained and controlled now, not always at the forefront of her thoughts. Her time as a soldier had already changed her. She was stronger and more disciplined. Most of all she didn't feel like that silly little girl anymore, the one who was so easily tricked and taken advantage of. The pain had made her stronger.

* * *

9:37 Dragon

They were on patrol when they saw it. A red light reaching into the heavens, far in the distance to the South. This couldn't mean anything good. Laurel had been leading a detachment between Kirkwall and Wildervale, she had just been promoted to the rank of Sergeant. Five years of service in the Army had led her here. Standing idle on the side of a mountain, watching danger from a distance, not allowed to act.

The last time they had seen trouble in the region, the entire city of Kirkwall was almost claimed by a group of rogue Qunari. Tal-something-or-other. Whatever was happening was coming from the direction Kirkwall again. Laurel had been a part of the group rotating in and out of the detachment then, traveling back and forth between there and the base at Hambleton. She had been there when the Qunari attacked, smelled the smoke, saw the city burning. They had orders to stay out of the city, but they had been permitted to attack the Qunari once they came outside of the city walls. They positioned themselves on the outskirts and kept the ones trying to leave from escaping. It was a long night, the first piece of real battle they had seen. By the time reinforcements arrived, the conflict was over. She killed her first man that night, one of the Qun converts. He was at least armed, which made it easier. Still, she thought of his face from time to time, how he looked when the tip of her blade pierced his skin. How the light left his eyes at the moment of death. If she hadn't killed him she would surely be dead, but that didn't change how it made her feel. Maybe a small part of her did die that day. The rest of her kills were just a blur, she let herself forget the faces after that, she didn't like to keep a count like some of the others did.

This time she was the one in charge, but she still had clear orders to follow. A small squad was positioned outside of the city, and her squad was to stay on the other side of the mountains. She would have to trust the other group to follow their orders and send reports of what was happening. For now her orders were still the same, the city takes care of what's inside the walls, the Army takes care of what comes outside. The Army couldn't involve themselves in city politics, only protect it from outside invasion. For now a runner would be sent to the forward camp to inform her superiors that trouble was brewing and they just had to wait for their instructions and hope reinforcements were sent. The Marches had seen far more than their fair share of trouble the past few years. The Qunari attack, the royal family of Starkhaven murdered, and now this.

 


	7. Chapter 7

9:38

 

"It didn't have to end that way you know." For the first time in years Laurel stood before her father in his study. He looked like a different man, older, sadder, he'd gone completely gray in the years since she had seen him last.    

Seven years ago he had put her through one of the worse ordeals of her life, now he was the one responsible for saving her. She had been discharged a month ago, dishonorably. She was stripped of her rank, her service awards, everything she had worked so hard for, gone. Lying on a military application was grounds for court marshal. Her years of service meant nothing because she wasn't who she said she was.  She was a Trevelyan, and there was no running away from that now. She should have been imprisoned or worse, but being a Trevelyan had saved her. Her father only had to call in a few favors and her record was wiped clean, like the last seven years had never happened. It wasn't fair. Not to her, not to the comrades she had fought with and lost. The mages were rebelling and she was forced to leave at a time soldiers were needed most. At least the rebellion had not yet spread to Ostwick. And now, she was back in front of the man who had taught her her first lesson in pain.    

"I know you will never forgive me, but thank you for coming back. For your mother's sake if not for mine." He looked at his daughter, she was a woman now, a formidable one at that. She had grown and matured. This was the first time they had looked upon each other since that day in the garden more than seven years ago. The day now fresh in their minds once again.   

She sighed, pushing away the pain. She stood tall with her hands behind her on the small of her back: the "at ease" position she had grown accustom to taking. She showed no emotion, holding the bearing the military had taught her. "Of course. I've put it behind me. We can't undo what happened, so...I'd be perfect happy if we never spoke of it again... try to move forward." She softened again, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, reminding herself to relax, letting her arms fall to her sides. This was her father, not her superior officer. "I...I was ready to come back home, to have a home again. I know you thought you were doing what was best, but I hope now you realize how much you hurt me."

He lowered his head into his hands, stifling a sob. "I'm so sorry Laurel, I...I was insane. I know what I did was wrong. I think we've all grown older and wiser since then. I've changed for the better. I took a hard look at my life when we lost you. I thought it would be forever." 

"Well it wasn't, I'm back. I can't promise for how long, but for now I'm here." 

"It's more than I could ask. For what it's worth, when we learned what you were doing, what you had accomplished, we couldn't have been more proud, your mother and I. Despite how it ended up. We should have let you choose your own way from the start, you wouldn't have been in this mess if we had. It takes a lot for a man to admit when he was wrong, but I was so completely utterly wrong." 

She swallowed and stared blankly ahead, not quite sure what to think. "Thank you." 

 

* * *

 

Laurel was back in the Ostwick Chantry courtyard for the first time in years. She never thought she would step foot here again. It still looked exactly the same as it had the last time she saw it. And just like a day had never passed, there knelt Gared, receiving a blessing from the same Chantry Priest. 

And just as before he stood and greeted her with a smile. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her in for a hug and a planted a kiss on her cheek making her squirm and laugh. "Sister, I've missed you." 

"I've missed you too," she laughed, pushing him away in jest. They started to walk together out into the streets of Ostwick. They walked side by side with the same stiff gait, the same posture, the way those with military training would be conditioned to walk, almost a relaxed march. "I, uh, don't supposed I could interest you in a pint like we used to do," she said nudging him in the ribs with a grin.

He laughed. "Well that didn't take long, cut right to the chase didn't you? And I thought the military would have changed you."

She raised an eyebrow mischievously. "Well...? What say you?"

"I would love to, Laurel, but you've been gone a long time. Things are different now. With the rebellion I just don't have the freedom or the time that I used to."

She turned stoic and stopped for a moment. "The rebellion?" she said in alarm. "It hasn't reach the circle here has it?"

"No. Not yet, anyway." He motioned her to keep moving and looked around for prying ears, lowering his voice just in case. "But there are whispers. I'm sure the mages know what's going on outside the walls of Ostwick. We've had to take some more strict measures with the mages, but nothing too serious. Nothing to worry about."

She wasn't entirely convinced. "If you say so. You'd tell me if things went bad wouldn't you?"

He chucked. "Why? Are you going to come save me? You've been off learning how to fight wars so now you think you can take on an entire circle of mages."

"I would if I had to," she said with a chuckle, smacking him lighting on the arm. They continued. Laurel walked with her arms crossed, hands griping her elbows, looking down a bit. "You're the only one who's been there for me Gared. The least I could do is come and save your arse from those sparklers." 

"Don't go getting any ideas. You may be a soldier, but you're also my baby sister and I won't have you putting yourself in harms way for my sake."

"But I would. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know that." They had reached the gates to the circle, more fortification had been added to the walls since she had last been here. It was not a comforting sight. "This is where we part. Visitors aren't allowed in anymore."

"I see, trying to get rid of me." She glared looking up for a moment, staring at what could only be now described as a compound, maybe even a prison. She watched the Templars that were standing guard open the gates that were shut with some elaborate lock. Gared walked inside, looking back giving her a smile and a small salute.  "You know where to find me," she called through the bars.

 

* * *

 

9:39

 

Another explosion, screams, metal hitting metal and flesh, something cracking, more screams. "Maker make it stop!"  

 The inevitable had happened, and now most of the mages were gone or dead, the ones that remained still fighting their way out. Laurel sat on the ground holding Gared in her arms, rocking back and forth. He was still with her for now, but his life was fading fast. He was burnt and bleeding, touched by both magic and blade. She held him for as long as she could, hoping help would come. Hoping that he could even be helped. He was coughing again, trying to say her name. Tears fell silently down her cheeks as she brushed his hair back from his face. "Shhh, save your strength, help is coming soon." The saliva in her mouth was thick, choking her, making it hard to speak. Somehow she had made it to him through the chaos but she had been too late. She had seen soldiers die, she recognized the signs. She knew by his sputtered breathing he was close. She felt helpless, her world was sinking.  "Gared stay with me." He kept closing his eyes.  _Please don't close your eyes_. He opened them again, but his look was still far off. He was trying to stay for her, but he couldn't fight much longer. He looked up at her, touching her face, the blood on his hand streaking her face. She grabbed his hand and held it there, she was weeping now, gasping for air. She knew he would be gone soon. "Gared?" He squeezed her hand, telling her he was still there, though his eyes had shut. He was shaking now, he looked afraid. The only thing she could think to do was try to sing, their governess used to sing a lullaby to them as children. She kept brushing his hair and his face, singing the song. It seemed to calm him. He went limp and stopped opening his eyes before the song had finished, his chest didn't rise anymore and his grip on her hand was gone. She shook him and screamed his name. He didn't move. He was gone. She couldn't move, couldn't hear or see or even cry anymore. She was surrounded by death, but only one mattered to her. 

 An explosion again and more screams, her ears rang and she was flat on the floor. The blast had knocked her on her back. Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.  _But Gared_! She started screaming, fighting, wanting to get away from whoever held her by the arm. She had to stay with Gared. "No! Get away from me, No!" The man slapped her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, she felt like she had woken from a dream to find the world burning around her. "Come to your senses, girl! The circle is lost, we must leave!" He was a Templar, she could trust him, she had to go with him. She would come back for Gared's body when she could. "Give me a weapon!" He went to Gared's body, scooping up his sword and shield. "Take these, he would want you to have them," he said muffled through his helm. She gripped the sword, ready to fight her way out. They ran to the exit, into the long hallway leading out to the courtyard, passing room upon room, screams coming from every direction. In their path a mage crawled across the floor, he saw Laurel and the Templar running towards him and begged for their mercy. Laurel's mind was racing, scrambling for answers. How could the mages have brought so much destruction and death? How could they have killed her brother? The templars were their protectors. This mage did not deserve mercy, none of them did! She ran to the mage, screaming in rage as she brought her blade down upon him, ending his life instantly. The templar ran ahead, but she stood above the mage's body staring, catching her breath and watching him bleed. "My Lady! We have to go!" 

She looked around weeping, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. They had to keep going. She sprinted toward the end of the hall now, the templar motioning her to hurry outside.  She had almost made it to the door when she heard whimpering. Two mages in a small room to her right were cowering on the floor, holding each other. She stopped and stared, standing over them with blade raised. She felt the anger of her brother's death raging inside of her. These mages had no weapons, but they were far from defenseless. They had to be stopped. She roared and swung her blade. The mages screamed, begging for their lives. She didn't care. The selfishness of these mages had led to all of this, and they would pay for her brother's life. Magic was made to serve man, not destroy it. She would kill these mages, and she would find the ones responsible for Gared's death. She swore to take revenge.      

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

9:41 Dragon

 

Laurel delicately ran her fingers over the cold smooth stone. She loved these city walls. They didn't represent what walls did to most, they weren't barriers. They were safety, they were memory, touching them always somehow brought her comfort. They represented a sort of freedom. She used to walk these walls with her brother. Nearly a decade ago when they were different people...  _when he was still alive_. Now she walked the walls alone. This was the one place she felt he was with her, the one place that her memories didn't haunt her. And after today, she may never see these stones again, may never touch them. She leaned on the wall, closing her eyes, taking in feeling of the cool stone on her back and the warmth of the sun on her front, breathing in the smell of the ivy and blooms and the faint smell of the sea that roared on the other side of the wall. She imagined Gared standing there with her, not a Templar any longer, just her brother. Saying goodbye to the wall almost felt like saying goodbye to him again. 

For almost two years she had waited, biding her time until she had a chance to act. Tomorrow could change things, it could change everything. Maybe even bring her some peace. Her aunt and cousin, both Chantry sisters were attending the Chantry's conclave in Fereldan. The situation they were walking into was delicate. Her parents had agreed to send her along to aid them, protect them if the negotiations didn't go well. She knew mages that had escaped Ostwick's circle would be a part of the mage delegation. If what the templar survivors told her was true, she knew the mage who had slain her brother would be there. One of the senior enchanters, he would be a member of the Ostwick delegation. He would not survive to see the negotiations if her plans came to fruition.

Laurel opened her eyes again, forcing herself off with a push. She had already lingered on the walls too long. She was expected at the Chantry within the hour. She took one last look at the walls, wishing she could cling to them forever. But it was time for action, time for her revenge against the mages who had wronged her brother. 

 

* * *

 

Pounding. All she could hear was pounding and the sound of her own breath. With each thud, pain seared through her head. Laurel tried to open her eyes, but they felt like they had been glued together. Her senses slowly began to return. She could feel her head hanging low, stretching the tendons in the back of her neck. She tried lifting her head but it felt too heavy, and she too weak. The pounding sounds faded with each breath, she realized she must be hearing her own heartbeat hammering in her head. She slowly lifted her eyelids. It was dark at first, but more blurry as her eyes adjusted to the absence of light in the room. 

She started to hear a faint sparking sound, the sound of a fire, or magic perhaps. She tried bringing her hand up to wipe her brow, but there were some kind of bindings keeping her hands from moving. The bindings clanked as she moved. She turned her hands to examine the constraints on her wrists when something green sparked in her left palm, causing her to gasp. She tried to shake away what had lit in her hands, but it didn't come free. The spark almost looked like it was...  _inside..._  her hand. It glowed green again and shot a painful tingle through her arm. She looked around, wide eyed and confused. What had happened to her? She couldn't remember where she was, or how she got there. The last thing she remembered was the temple. She was looking for the mage. 

Her eyesight was returning, she looked around and found herself surrounded by stone. On each side of her were armed men with their swords drawn, they looked to be guards. She gasped again at the sight of them, wincing away and looking down at the ground. She could hear her own breathing again growing heavy, her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to think, tried to remember. Just then a door in front her slammed open, hitting the wall with a bang. Two figures burst through the door and the guards surrounding her sheathed their weapons, the loud clanking of metal rang through her ears. The ones who entered, they were both women. They began pacing around her. Her heart pounded faster, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly. She was too afraid to move or speak, she could only watch them moving around the room. The red head approached her from the front, stopping at a distance. The dark haired one was behind her, and leaned in to speak in her ear, startling her. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now!"


	9. Haven is for real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel has made her way to Haven and now we begin some of the events of Dragon Age Inquisition. Some things will be similar or the same as what happens in game, some things will be slightly different or take a totally different direction, some in-game conversations will be included, some heavily tweaked or just a line or two used. I am not sticking to the story of the game but I am leaning on it. From here on out, beware of spoiler possibilities.

Everything felt wrong. It felt as though everything she knew of herself, of the world was different now. This Herald they were calling her. That wasn’t her. She had turned her back on the Chantry, on Andraste long ago. How could she be chosen by someone she no longer believed in? But now she was here, she had lived, they say she had been saved by Andraste herself. Somehow she had been sent out of the fade. She couldn’t remember how she escaped the blast, and she didn’t know why, Laurel only knew she did. Perhaps this was a second chance. Maybe she had been sent to atone for her sins, to make herself worthy of being at the Maker’s side. She had come that day intent on murder. Intent on killing any mage that got in her way.  Now they were dead and she had lived. Peace had certainly not been granted to her. She knew now that she had made a mistake. She thought back, thinking of the lives she had taken that day at the Ostwick circle in her grief. Why had she thought their lives were less valuable than her brother’s? Because they were mages? Their deaths could in no way make up for his.

She stood now in Haven’s Chantry, the first time she had been here on reason of faith in a very long time. It was odd now that this was the place she had turned to, after having turned away for so long before. But now she had been given a second chance at finding real faith, not something forced upon her by duty or tradition.

Laurel could remember being in the fade, but barely. It felt like her memories were taken from her or that her mind had blocked them from her. Laurel couldn't remember what had happened to her, but she could feel it. A deep fear nagging at her mind when she tried to close her eyes to rest. She was almost afraid to enter the fade again, even if only in a dream. Each night she had come to the Chantry, hoping to find some comfort or peace, at least some solace. For some reason it was easier at night. The light of the candles helped soften the look of the place, and there were less people here. She would come just after the midnight service, when but a few would be roaming the chapel.

It had been three days since she had awoken to find the breach still in the sky. Their first attempt to seal it had failed. And in those three days she had not yet found sleep. Tomorrow she would meet with the Inquisition’s advisors. They would be discussing some sort of plan and it involved her. She looked down at her hand, at the mark now spread across her palm. The only reason they had allowed her to live at first was because of this. She remembered a verse from the Chant. _For no mortal may walk bodily In the realm of dreams, Bearing the mark of their Crime._ They said she had walked out of the fade. Was that why she was now marked? A punishment for her crimes, or was it truly a blessing from Andraste? Was it a mark of her sins or a mark of her worth? Whatever it was, it was now the only hope for stopping what was happening in the sky. And it had to be the reason she was the only one to survive.

She raised her head, turning her gaze toward the marble statue of Andraste surrounded by candles. She looked at the prophet, searching for answers. Wondering why her? Why now? Why like this? She knew she wouldn’t find her answers today. Maybe if she could sleep she could remember. Or maybe she wasn’t supposed to remember, maybe remembering would just make it harder to move forward. She decided she couldn’t look back anymore, she just needed to have faith that all of this had happened for a reason and that a new path had been chosen for her. No, not chosen for her. Laid before her. The choice to follow it was hers. She was a Marcher. She determined her own destiny.

Laurel rose from her knees and turned to look at her surroundings. Every other day she had kept her focus on the altar, but Haven’s Chantry served as much more than just a religious sanctuary. It was now the Inquisition’s base of operations. There were offices, quarters, and then there was the war room. She had been in it only once, when she officially met the Inquisition’s leaders. There was Cassandra, the seeker who had started this whole inquisition business. She was the first person she had met after the blast that destroyed the temple. Thankfully first impressions were not lasting in this case and she had been given a second chance by the seeker. Laurel again had the mark to thank for that.

Then there was the red head, the spymaster Leliana. She was frightening to say the least. If it served her she would stab you in the back or the front, whatever it took. And she moved so effortlessly and elegantly, you would never see her coming. She was in the room when she woke from the nightmare too. Had seen her weak and in chains, a feeling that made her quite uneasy and resentful.

There was also an Antivan woman whose name she couldn’t remember, but she knew her surname had sounded familiar at the time. Some sort of nobility. She was ever so proper, serving in her perfect role of ambassador. She seemed like the sort to quite enjoy the snobbish dance that nobles liked to play with each other. She always stood perfectly straight, kept every hair in place, and held her clipboard close.

And there was the Inquisition’s Commander. His name had escaped her too. He made her quite nervous. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the title or something else. She had been a soldier and was almost promoted to warrant officer before she left, high ranking officers always made her jump a little. He had been a Templar like her brother before the mage rebellions. He stood tall and confident like a soldier and he was quite young to be a Commander. Close to her age she guessed but battle worn, with scars peeking from under his armor and splitting one side of his upper lip. Usually scars made people look worse, but something about his made him seem that much more attractive. His mouth had lifted on just that side when he had smiled briefly when their eyes caught before. He was admittedly handsome, she couldn’t deny that. And the slight rasp of his voice was rather soothing.

She reached up to touch her own scar spread across the left side of her forehead and ran her fingers across another under her chin, trying to remember where she had earned the cuts. She wondered how battle worn it made her seem, if they affected her attractiveness in any way. She used to be a beauty, but it had been a long time since she had looked in a mirror and really examined herself in that way. She didn’t know anymore. She still received attention, but for some men it didn’t take much to cause them to advance. She shook her head at herself, laughing at the silliness of worrying if she was pretty enough. This was definitely not the time to be concerned with such things. She wasn’t 18 and carefree anymore. 10 years had passed and those years had been long and wearing. It was surprising what could happen to a person in 10 years’ time.  

She shook, freeing herself from such thoughts. She looked to the door in the back again, sitting dead center on the very back wall. She was being drawn toward it, her feet moving toward it before she really knew what they were doing. _There it is_ , she thought. The war room. Laurel wasn't quite sure she liked the sound of it. War. She'd never really fought in a full blown war. She had seen battle, been in combat, watched from the outside as a city burned, but a war? Had it really come to that? The mages and Templars had always been at odds, but now they meant to involve all of Thedas. And she suddenly found herself right at the center of the conflict. This _thing_ on her hand thrusting her to the heart of it.

She looked at it, convinced it had to be the work of mages. Who else could do something like this? Who else could do something so deranged as to put a hole in the sky to let the monsters in? She clamped her eyes shut, shaking the thoughts from her mind. No! She couldn’t think like that anymore. It wasn’t fair to blame the mages. They were men and women just like any other. All men were capable of extremes, great compassion and empathy but also great evil. Magical talent didn’t suddenly make them all corrupt. She had seen enough corruption in normal men, even within her own family. Her father in particular.

Laurel stood in front of the door to the room now and reached for the handle deciding to try it. It was locked. She fiddled with the latch for a moment, taking only a few seconds to pick it. She slowly inched the door shut behind her and made sure it clicked quietly. She had the distinct feeling that maybe she shouldn’t be in here sneaking around, but it didn’t dissuade her any. The room was lit slightly by moonlight, it was enough to see so she didn’t dare light a candle and alert anyone of her presence. She wasn’t really sure if they trusted her yet, especially around this much information.

In the middle of the room sat the war table, with a large map of Thedas spread across its surface. She approached it slowly, peeking over the table’s edge seeing the entire known world laying before her. She could see her home land, the Free Marches. To its northeast was Nevarra. Antiva and Tevinter to the north. Orlais and the Anderfels to the east. And south, where there were now, laid Fereldan.  Metal markers and figures were spread over the map, she wasn't exactly sure what they were for. If each one represented a rift she was supposed to close, she had a lot of work ahead of her. It was overwhelming. She had never been responsible for such a large task.  She hung her head and let out an exasperated sigh. She shook her head and swore. "Fuck."  

The door behind her swung open with a metal screech, causing her to gasp. She turned to see someone standing in the doorway, their face lit by a candle they held in their hand. It was the Commander. “Forgive me. I…didn’t mean to startle you, Herald. I didn’t know anyone was in here. Is…everything alright?”

She turned back to the table, leaning on it trying to catch her breath. She chuckled at herself under her breath while holding her chest. The Commander walked to the other side of the table, lighting candles around the room as he moved past each candelabrum. “I apologize, I know I shouldn’t be in here.” 

“And what makes you say that?” he questioned.

“Perhaps because the door was locked,” she admitted.

His voice was low as he chuckled. “I won’t ask how you got inside then.” He stopped behind the table across from her and stood with his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. “You should have access, I’ll make sure you’re given a key in the morning.”

She looked up sheepishly smiling. “Thank you.” She was embarrassed, but she had to know his name. “Commander, forgive me, but it’s been a very long few days and I haven’t quite gained my senses. I missed your name at our introduction.”

He placed his hand on the back of his neck, look away almost as if he were nervous. "It's Commander Cullen...or Rutherford if you prefer more formal address. Ah, should I call you Lady Trevelyan, or...?"

She laughed with a head shake. "No that won't be necessary, Commander Cullen."

He looked relieved and laughed a little at himself. "Apologies. I don't deal with very many nobles, I wasn't sure what was expected."

She shrugged her shoulders. "No matter, I've been away from court for the better part of the last decade. I'm beyond forged politeness and formality. I find it rather exhausting actually, though I do try when it is required."

"I suppose I should have guessed that when I walked in on you swearing," he said with a small laugh.

Her mouth gaped open in surprised as she blushed. “You heard that? Well…damn! I guess that really isn’t very lady like. You caught me, I have the mouth of a fishwife.”

He stood there with his arms crossed. "You were in the military, weren't you? It can tend to do that sort of thing. Or so I hear."

"I was...for almost 7 years," she sighed. "I wish I could say that's the reason I have such a foul mouth, but I'm afraid I've always been like that. The army just taught me a few new _colorful_ words to say.”

He chuckled. "You were an officer? I’m sure your troops trembled at your vocabulary.”

She pressed her lips together. “No actually, I enlisted.”

“Oh, I just assumed since you had a title. I didn’t think they let…”

She interrupted suddenly. “The don't. I lied about it. Got myself in quite a bit of trouble. My career ended because I hid it. I lied on the application because I didn’t want to be an officer. I didn't want to deal with the politics and all the other shit that comes with having a title," she said with a tinge of bitterness.

"There are worse things than having a title. But… I think I take your meaning," he nodded. 

She'd made it awkward again, as it weren't already awkward enough between them. "Forgive me, I probably sound like an ungrateful brat. I did have a privileged upbringing, I should be thankful. I never wanted for anything." That wasn’t entirely true. She had wanted for nothing money could buy anyway. A bit of affection from her parents would have been worth more than any coin. 

He changed the subject clearing his throat. "Ah, so...what brings you to here at such a late hour? Planning world domination on your own?"

She blew a short laugh from her nose and smiled. "I couldn't sleep. I haven't slept for… days. I keep coming to the Chantry hoping to calm my nerves, but it hasn't worked yet. I sort of just wandered over to the war room tonight." she admitted. "I could ask you the same thing," she said lifting her eyebrows.

“I had trouble finding sleep as well," he rasped as he scratch the back of his neck. "I thought I could finish reading a few reports from Sister Leliana’s scouts.“

She lifted some parchments and threw them in front of him. “If you want to be bored off to sleep you should try reading some of these reports from the ambassador. Lots of big long titles with names I can’t even begin to pronounce. Not very riveting material, trust me I tried.”

He chuckled low. “Of that I have no doubt. How many days exactly since you’ve slept?”

"Well, this is the 3rd night I've ended up in the Chantry instead of my bed." She stared down blankly, thinking. "I...I just suppose I'm afraid to close my eyes, to go to the fade again. I feel like I'm going to go mad," she said looking up at him. He was looking down at her and their eyes locked for a moment, both were quick to look away. Laurel lost her breath for just a moment. Why was he so easy to spill her secrets to? She had told him more in the last few minutes than she had told anyone since arriving at Haven. Perhaps it was their similar backgrounds. He was a military man and there was always a certain understanding when you came across a fellow soldier.

Commander Cullen cleared his throat. "I...I know what that's like. I've had many sleepless nights myself. If you're interested I have a bit of a secret cure I've used from time to time. I'd be willing to share it with you. I don’t like to use it often, but sometimes I find it necessary."

"What sort of cure is this secret of yours?" she questioned him squinting her eyes curiously.

"I'll show you." He led her out of the war room and he stepped into his quarters that laid just to the left. She waited outside the door as he fetched something from inside. He came out and stood in the doorway, pouring a bottle into a small flask. "It's a very strong dwarven wine, mixed with a just bit of blood lotus. It does the trick every time," he said handing her the flask. He turned around placing the wine on a table just by the door. "And I do mean strong, don't drink it until..." She had already thrown back the entire flask. And she already felt incredibly dizzy. "Sweet maker, I was going to say don't drink it until you're ready to fall asleep."

The room was moving and she was having trouble staying upright. The drink was acting quickly. "That's the sort of thing you say to someone before you hand them such a thing," she slurred, wondering if he could even understand her. She barely understood herself.  "I...I think I need to sit down." She started laughing, letting out a snort and quickly covered her nose. "Oh Maker, that's embarrassing." She started to fall.

Cullen burst out laughing, catching her before she hit the floor. “I did say it was strong."

"I think you're going to have to help me to my room, if I can even make it that far."

He pulled her inside the room he had fetched the wine from and sat her on the floor. "I think you may be right. You won't make it that far.” He looked around for a moment, considering the options. “Just use my quarters for the night, I'll find my way to the barracks." He picked her up and put her on the bed before she could protest.

"Are you sure,” she asked sleepily. “You don't have to put...," and she was out, finally asleep. He shook his head, laughing at what had just transpired. He pulled the quilt over her, accidentally brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. Her skin felt soft. He looked at the skin he had just touched, something about her was very striking, she was beautiful and this was not the first time he had noticed, he stood and watched her sleep for a moment. She almost reminded him of someone he knew once. He realized how inappropriate it was to linger and left silently scolding himself, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could manage. 


	10. Chapter 10

Lady Trevelyan had just returned from the Hinterlands. They’d only just met, but for some reason Cullen couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Ever since he had found her that night in the war room and she had shared so much. He still scolded himself for the accidental touch and lingering over her while she slept. He unwillingly kept finding his gaze drifting when he knew she was near. Something about her was…intriguing. And he was not afraid to admit she had some interesting physical assets. Just because he had been a Templar didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a beautiful woman when he saw one. He wasn't dead…not yet. It been a long time since any woman had caught his attention in such a way. There had been distractions before when he felt the need for release, but this was not the same.

He knew little of Lady Trevelyan before they had spoken in the Chantry. Only that she was nobility from the Free Marches, and had some military experience which could be used to their advantage. Normally he could not stomach interacting with nobility and avoided it like a bad smell, but she had been easy to work with so far. She was not like other nobles he had met, she was much more down to earth. He suspected most would jump at the opportunity to grab at a tiny sliver of fame, but this woman had been very much resistant to her new found title of Herald of Andraste. She had said it was unnerving, and he could certainly sympathize with her.

Thanks to his brilliant idea of drugging the poor woman that night at the Chantry, the Inquisition’s plans had been delayed by a day. He had ordered that she not be disturbed until she emerged on her own and she had slept through the following day and into the next morning. He found himself quite embarrassed at their next meeting when she accused him of a failed attempt at poisoning her. He couldn't be sure if she was joking or not, she seemed to be a fan of dry humor and he just had to hope the accusation was an attempt at it. She acted angry, but he could have sworn he heard faint snickering as he left the room. Even if she wasn't serious, he still felt guilty.  

For the moment he had to remind himself that there was a very large task before them and his focus needed to be redirected back to the mission. This was a bridge he could not cross no matter how tempting. His time as a Templar had taught him when and how to turn emotional attachment off, he had done it before when another young woman had caught his attention at the Fereldan circle tower. It made things easier, especially when the mage failed her harrowing. The thought of what could have been left a lump in his throat. What if he hadn't been able to strike her down? This would have to be no different. Although he did have to admit things were different this time. He was different this time without the lyrium.

The Herald had managed to bring the Chantry Priest back to Haven as requested. Reports the party brought from the Hinterlands were disturbing. Mages and Templars were openly fighting in the area and were leaving destruction in their wake. The Herald and Lady Cassandra had already spread the Inquisition’s influence further than they had thought possible so early in its birth and the area had requested the Inquisition's continued aid. People were already talking about what they had seen Lady Trevelyan do there and they were gaining recruits thanks to her. She had come back requesting the construction of watch towers in the area, which his soldiers would be sent to build. When the area was safe, they would be able to convince the horsemaster there to send his finest steeds to aid the Inquisition.

The last few days had been busy, he found himself finally able to concentrate and much had been accomplished. The task of keeping peace between the mages and Templars that had come to aid the Inquisition had fallen on him. Somehow he had been successful. Other than a brief clash in front of the Chantry, there had been no incidents to cause concern thus far. With that small crisis temporarily quelled, he had been able to set up a place for the men to practice, as well as see to the construction of the towers and prepare the stables for the horses. For now he stood amidst swinging swords overseeing the recruits' swordplay, focusing on their form and scrutinizing their poor excuse for so-called skill. It was time for some tough love to be dealt. “You there! There’s a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy you’d be dead!” he spat. He turned to his Lieutenant with further instructions when he spotted the Herald off in the distance, heading out of the main gates.

As she walked through the gates leading outside Haven’s walls, Laurel had been drawn to the familiar sound of clashing metal. As she drew closer she spotted the Commander in the middle of the make shift sparring grounds. He stood with his hands on his hips and every few seconds he would throw his hands up, spouting corrections. He reminded her a bit of the drill master who had once instructed her at the start of her military career. They looked nothing alike, but the scowl was there and he seemed equally as hot-headed and almost as scary when he was giving commands. Maybe it was a Fereldan thing. Watching him in action made her heart start to beat a little faster and a flush rushed over her skin, something about the sneer and the tone he used, every motion he made seemed strong and controlled. She couldn't be sure if she were slightly intimidated or if she were experiencing something else altogether.     

Out of the corner of his eye Cullen saw the Herald approach. He could see her dark hair had become somewhat disheveled, pieces of the braid she wore had come lose. She looked weary. He imagined she had been through much in a very short time and he could envision quite well what it must be like in the midst of all the fighting in the Hinterlands. She seemed to be handling it well despite all of it. He himself knew exactly what it was like to be in the middle of a battlefield between Templars and Mages. He knew none of this had to be easy on her.

She walked up slowly gripping her elbows, watching recruits and stopping beside him. “Remind me never to practice in front of you. You’re a little scary,” she jested.

He chuckled slightly. “You forget I've seen you on the field,” he smirked looking toward her with his arms crossed as he tried to continue to direct his focus to his troops. He noticed in the short walk some flush had returned to her cheeks and her hair was a bit less unkempt. “You could give these recruits a run. Maybe even myself,” he offered almost as a challenge.

She raised her eyebrows and one side of her mouth lifted at the thought. “Maybe we’ll have to test that out sometime.” 

“Perhaps we will. That I shall look forward to,” he found himself too eager in reply.

“You give me too much credit,” she laughed looking at her feet. “I’m certainly not the best, but I do at least know how to work a sword and shield. I used to be proficient with a bow, but I haven’t picked that up for quite some time.” It had in fact been a very long time since she had touched a bow. She didn't care to think of the memories she associated with shooting, but she would take it up again were it required.

He watched her feet fiddle with the gravel beneath her. “I’m sure you could teach some of the new soldiers a thing or two,” Cullen reassured her and a small smile returned to her lips. He was glad he seemed to have broken her from whatever sullen thoughts she pondered while she stared down at her boots. Her head lifted and she looked to him as he continued. “We've received a number of recruits. But none made quite the entrance you did.”

She shrugged smugly and the life had returned to her eyes. ”At least I got everyone’s attention.”

“That you did,” he smirked.

“What about you Commander? How did you find yourself here among us Chantry outcasts?”

He motioned her forward and they began walking through the camp observing soldiers as they passed. He walked quickly and she tried to match his pace. “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall myself. I was there during the mage uprising and saw firsthand the devastation it caused. I would not wish that on my worst enemy.”

He slowed and she stopped for a moment to look up at him as another soldier approached, handing the Commander a report he barely glanced at. Her look became distant as she recollected the reports she received that day after the devastation. “I was on a patrol when the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded, we saw it from miles away. We didn't know then how bad things really were or I’m sure they would have sent us to help.” She swallowed as she watched her feet in the snow and rock. She had always felt guilty for being unable to help during the attack. “Things weren't as bad when Ostwick’s circle finally rebelled, it at least stayed confined to the circle and left most of the city untouched. You left the order when you joined the Inquisition then?”

“Cassandra offered me position so I left the Templars to join her cause. I never thought it could get more dire than what I saw at Kirkwall, but it did. Now it seems we face something far worse,” he rasped.

She sighed. “You mean like the conclave destroyed and a giant hole in the sky? Doesn't look very good does it?”

“Which is why we’re needed. The Chantry has lost control and now the Inquisition can act where they could not. I know you've been reluctant to embrace your role in this, but our followers would be a part of that call to action and you inspire them. Just think of what we can accomplish. There’s so much we can….forgive me,” he shook his head at himself. “I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“No,” she laughed. “But if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it. Your passion and enthusiasm are…admirable. I think I could learn a thing or two,” she said with a nod.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he chuckled. “Another time perhaps.”

She looked up at him smiling with amusement and it was as if something was suddenly caught in his throat. The way she was looking at him was more than just mere professional admiration and it caught him off guard. Suddenly she felt like an idiot grinning so widely at him and quickly shifted her gaze away. Cullen for a moment forgot was he was saying. “I…ah,” he cleared his throat. “There’s still a lot of work ahead,” was the only thing he could muster as he looked off for anything he could refocus his attention to.

Just then a soldier approached with a report requiring his attention. Work was just what he needed at this moment. He felt like he had been saved. “As I was saying,” he looked to her and motioned taking his leave. Her eyes stayed on him as he walked away. She stood trying to catch her breath. She felt like she had completely shamed herself the way she had just looked at him, smiling and batting her eyes like a maiden. And staring after him like a lecher watching his hind quarters as he sauntered away was not helping matters either. _Get a grip, Laurel._

She looked around for anything else to focus her eyes toward. On the other side of the sparring area she spotted Cassandra, practicing alone and taking out her frustrations on a dummy. The seeker had the right idea and she thought to join her, but they would both be expected in the war room soon. She didn't want to show up looking worse than she already did or smelling of sweat. They had one last meeting before heading off to Val Royeaux. They were walking right into the viper’s pit to throw themselves at the Chantry, hoping they suddenly came to their senses. The decision to venture into enemy territory was not her own and she had made her displeasure at the idea very clear, but it seemed to be their only option. This whole situation had begun to wear on her and there seemed to be no rest in sight. If she left now she would have just enough time to clean herself up and don a new set of clean armor before she would be expected at the counsel, and she supposed she should look her best walking into a place like Val Royeaux. It would cause quite a scandal if the damned Herald of Andraste showed up dirty and in rags. 


	11. Chapter 11

Laurel burst into the war room fuming. She had thrown the door open with such force that the sound of the heavy metal and wood against the stone wall echoed throughout the chapel. The candles throughout the hall shook and flickered from the vibrations of her outburst. Every eye in the war room opened wide in shock at her person and quickly darted away afraid of what wrath eye contact with the wild creature might incur.

Laurel stood in the doorway, huffing and fists clenched at her sides, an inner rage begging to escape in whatever way it could manage. She wanted to yell, to hit something, throw something. She uncurled her hands and took a breath, trying to regain even a small amount of composure. Lady Cassandra followed behind, eyeing Lady Trevelyan with a fervent look of disapproval as she took her place at the table. She had already heard enough ranting on the return trip to Haven. It was all she could do to keep herself from knocking the woman from her horse to shut her up. Things hadn’t gone their way, Lady Trevelyan would just have to deal with it.

The trip to Val Royeaux had been a complete disaster. The Chantry was still strong in its declaration, they named Lady Trevelyan a heretic despite her vehement denial of being any sort of holy figure. The Chantry would offer no assistance and no support to the Inquisition and they continued to blame its Herald for everything that happened, including the death of the Divine. And now they had even bigger problems to contend with. The Templars had gone mad, declaring themselves completely independent of the Chantry and the Inquisition unworthy of their concern. Any chance they had of approaching the Templars for help had vanished quickly. The Lord Seeker had called her a puppet and that had stung far worse than anyone could know. He had hit a nerve and Laurel was enraged at the insult. She had felt like a pawn her entire life, constantly fighting for control of her own destiny. He had caused her to question herself, to question the Inquisition. She wondered if she had allowed herself to be manipulated again, to be used and offered up as a sacrifice once more. She paced around the war room hugging her body as Cassandra gave her report, chiming in throughout when any particularly infuriating detail had been left unsaid. When Cassandra began to speak of the Lord Seeker, Laurel could take no more of this.

“A puppet he called me! A puppet!” she roared.

Cassandra tried calming her. “You are not a puppet, we told you that you were free to leave if you wished.”

Laurel shook her head. “I told you this was a bad idea from the start! We should never have approached the Chantry!”

“We had no choice!” Cassandra put her foot down. “If you do not like what we are asking of you then go!”

“No!” she yelled pounding her fist on the table, shaking the metal pieces of the map from their positions and causing a tome left at the table’s edge to fall to the stone floor. “I said I would see this through and I will,” she declared gesturing with a pointed finger for emphasis. “I’m not backing down because some washed up ass-hat idiot thinks he’s better than us. I will show him exactly what he has to fear from this Inquisition!” Her face bent with grim determination.  

Leliana’s eyes peaked with delight drawing up the corners of her mouth with them. The Herald, usually so resistant to her role, could very well be on her way to embracing it. “Us?” Leliana chimed. “So you _are_ an official member of this Inquisition now?”

“Well of course I am!” she snapped, throwing her hands. “Just…finish the report without me. I was there, I don’t need to listen to all of this bullshit again.” She took a deep breath and brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose pinching it. “I…I need to go calm down.” She exited slamming the door shut behind her.

The four remaining members of the Inquisition stood in silence looking around awkwardly, slightly stunned. Josephine cleared her throat and straightened her back. “Well…that was…interesting” she started.

Cullen had smartly kept quiet during the exchange. As the air sat thick with tension, he couldn’t help but be amused at the situation. Lady Cassandra was a force to be reckoned with and it seemed she may have met her match in Lady Trevelyan. A chuckled started to escape from his throat that quickly turned into a full, exuberant laugh. Cassandra glared at him, her eyes mere slits. “What is it you find so funny, Commander?”

He brought his fist up to his mouth taking a breath and coughing to gain back his sobriety. “I just…she has quite the temper doesn’t she?”

Leliana spoke. “Can you blame her?”

“No,” Cassandra admitted. “We have to remember she didn’t choose this as we have. Perhaps we are putting too much on her shoulders?”

“You may be right, but what choice do we have? She’s the only one who can close the Breach. And the people have decided they want to follow her, and for good reason,” Cullen concluded.

“Let’s just hope she doesn’t crack under the pressure,” Cassandra scoffed.

“We must do what we can to make sure that she doesn’t. But we’ve lost our focus. Now that we know the Templars aren’t willing to help us we need to make a decision whether to approach the rebel mages,” Leliana interjected.

Cassandra agreed. “First Enchanter Fiona seemed open to the idea.”

“I still think we could appeal to the Templars. Even if the Lord Seeker refuses, we could still sway some of their ranks to our cause,” said Cullen.

Cassandra sighed. “Believe me Commander, I would rather not work with the rebel mages, but they could be our only option.”

“Perhaps we can reconvene when Lady Trevelyan has cooled off and can be included in the discussion,” Josephine reasoned.

“I agree,” Cullen nodded.

Leliana waved her hand with a curt motion indicating the group’s dismissal.   

* * *

 

The afternoon had been intense. Cullen saw a side of the Herald that no one could have guessed lurked beneath the surface. She was usually so pulled together save from a few moments he observed a loss of confidence, or a quick bout of swearing. She usually seemed to recover quickly when her flaws had shown. This afternoon she had shown such anger. She had been almost frightening, but the assertiveness had not deterred him. Far from. It was almost endearing to know some passion lurked beneath the usually cool exterior. It was something the Inquisition needed in its ranks. And it had awakened him to say the least. After watching her so heated, he needed a chance to cool off himself.

He hadn’t the intent to find her when he excused himself to take a walk, but as he saw her through the trees Cullen felt a draw, a want and a need to go to her. She left quite upset and had not returned to the encampment for some time. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to speak with her about what happened. _Someone should surely check on her,_ he reasoned. As Laurel walked through the thick, scavenging for herbs she startled as she heard sticks breaking behind her. She gasped as she turned to see the Commander only a few steps behind her.

“You like to sneak up on people don’t you?” she said with a glare. She stood with her arm wrapped around the trunk of a small tree and the opposite hand rested on her jutted out hip.

“I saw you in the distance. I…thought I’d make sure you were alright after what happened in there,” he said clemently.

She sighed pushing herself from the tree, struggling to meet his gaze. She knew her behavior in the war room had not been very complimentary. “I’m fine. I just needed to get away for a bit.”

“I know all of this must be overwhelming,” his tone offering sympathy.  

“Do you?” she scoffed. Overwhelming was a very light way of putting it. “I have somehow managed to insert myself into a position of unprecedented need by waking up with this _thing_ on my hand. I would give it away at the first opportunity were I given the chance. If I was chosen by Andraste, she picked the wrong person for the job,” she retorted.

“I disagree,” he affirmed.

“You do?” she said looking up at him locking his eyes, wondering why this man had such faith in her.

Cullen felt his heart flutter in his chest for just a moment as he studied the beacons boring into his very soul. Her brows normally arched perfectly above her eyes save for a small section broken by a scar, but now they were straightened into a furrow. He knew her eyes were brown before, but now the exact dark brown shade would be locked in his mind forever. They reminded him of a deep bowl of warm chocolate, the kind he sipped on when the snows fell in Honnleath. A treat reserved for he and his siblings only a few times when he was a child. The brown color was lighter toward the center and grew darker at the edge of the iris, the same way the chocolate would as it clung to the sides of the cup. They shimmered too, like rocks shown through the clear surface of a running brook when the sun hit its waters . There was a radiance to them, enhanced by the thick black lashes outside and the dark makeup she used that lined them. It wasn’t too much, just enough to draw attention to her eyes. He wasn’t sure if that had been there before. 

He swallowed, breaking his gaze as his hand raised behind him where he found his neck and began rubbing. “I ah…all… of us trust that you can complete the task at hand.”

She turned away still disconcerted and began walking up a steep hill treading through the snow as he followed close behind. “Again, you give me too much credit. I am not what any of you think I am.”

“Then what are you?” he questioned as he climbed the hill behind her, using the thin tree trunks for leverage, feeling they would break under his weight if he lost his footing or pulled too hard. The trunks only grew thinner as they climbed higher.

She stopped and turned back toward him. Her eyes moved back and forth as she searched for the answer. She couldn’t tell him what she really was. A liar, a murderer, a failure. “According to Lord Seeker Lucius, I’m a pawn. It isn’t like I’m not used to it. I’ve been used my entire life. Always someone else’s tool,” she said bitterly.

“I can empathize, even if only a little. I was a Templar. I saw how the Chantry used us. They used our faith and our desire to serve to make us addicts and to control us, used us to do their bidding which was rarely ever just.”

Her face softened as she considered. “Is that why you really left?”

“There are many reasons why I left and that is only one of them. But we aren’t really here to talk about me or the Templars are we?” his own voice now filled with bitterness.

Lady Trevelyan’s eyes moved to watch some far off scene and he noted fleeting pain cross her face for just a moment. She inhaled sharply and let out a slow quiet breath. When she spoke it was gentle. “My brother was a Templar. I wonder if he would’ve felt the same.”

“Was?” he inquired.

She was quiet as she thought whether to answer or not. Her eyes returned to his again and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to speak the words. “He died,” she murmured, her lips barely moved as the words escaped.

He could only think to apologize, he wouldn’t pry. “I’m… sorry,” he said with sincerity.

She weakly smiled at him, appreciative of his sympathy, and glad he didn’t press further. She guessed he likely knew better, he must have experienced loss of his brethren in Kirkwall during their uprising. He had surely experienced some of the same pain. Speaking of it never accomplished anything. “So am I.”

She turned continuing up the snowy bank. Both remained quiet, letting the silence create distance from the painful memories that had reared. Only the sound of their breaths and the crunching snow beneath their feet filling the air. Cullen still followed close behind. He found his eyes drifting up from the ground in front of him and lingering on her form. Her legs were strong but slender, thickening just-so at the thighs. The leathers she wore were tight, fitted seemingly just for her body. He could faintly see through to the movement of her muscles working at propelling her up the hillside. As his gaze reached higher, flickering toward her buttocks he force his look away, attempting to retain a bit of dignity for himself.  

“Why are we traversing this hill?” he wondered, distracting himself.

She blew a short laugh from her lips. “I don’t seem to remember asking you to follow me, Commander Cullen.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed permission, Lady Trevelyan,” he bantered.

She turned back shooting him a mischievous smile. “A gentleman always asks permission,” she quipped.

He raised an eyebrow and tried to keep the corner of his mouth from lifting to a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She chuckled. “I thought I saw elfroot at the tree line, but now I’m not sure. I think it might just be a weed.”

“I’m sure we could find a less treacherous location to harvest if you want it that badly.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” she said playfully.

Laurel looked back as she heard a loud snap, her eyes wide and mouth gaping as she watched what was unfolding.  

“Oh… shit.” Cullen groaned as the thin trunk he had just grabbed for balance broke into two. A moment later he was tumbling down the hill, fresh snow flying in every direction as he plummeted, the world around him turning in circles. Luckily he made it to the bottom quickly and mostly unscathed. He stood up brushing the snow from his armor and fur pauldrons. He had barely steadied himself when he heard a squeal and his feet were knocked out from under him. Lady Trevelyan had attempted to run after him and only found herself in the same predicament, sliding and then rolling down the hill trying not to hit anything on the way down. Cullen sat up moaning and holding his back. When he looked to see what had hit him he expected to see a log or something equally as hard and heavy, but instead saw Lady Trevelyan flattened on her back, sprawled out in the snow. He stood up quickly to see if she had been hurt, but his worry quickly turned to relief as she sat up laughing in hysterics. Luckily their armor had left both mostly protected from injury. He couldn’t help but laugh along as he offered his hand to pull her from the snow. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but maybe you were right about the hill. Treacherous indeed,” she said covering her mouth with the back of her hand, still trying to calm her laughter as he pulled her to her feet. “I think I will stay on even ground from now on.”

He blew out a quick laugh as they both swept snow from their clothing. “Sound advice.” Cullen suddenly felt very awkward in front of her, shamed at his hidden transgression before. “I…should return to my duties. Before you kill us both.”

“I suppose I may be needed as well,” she sighed looking in the direction of their path of return.

“Let’s not mention this to anyone. I don’t need any help embarrassing myself,” he said brushing snow from his hair. Laurel looked up and watched as his fingers ran through and it became unkempt for just a few seconds. His wide shoulders growing even larger with the lift of his arm over his head. She was suddenly stirred and heat rose in her chest for just a moment before she tore her eyes from him and forced the feeling away.

“Of course not,” she said not entirely convincing him. She looked back up, offering him the same stupid grin she had shown him once before. This time he smiled back, the scarred side of mouth curling slightly higher than the other.  

He cleared his throat and turned away. “Shall we,” he said motioning her forward.

As she watch him turn from her, Laurel reprimanded herself, clearing the emotion from her face. What was she doing? She had to stop this, whatever this was. Many years had passed since she last felt anything toward a man, and she swore she would never let it happen again. Any relationship she had been involved in since the day her heart was broken had been completely physical and she worked too closely with this man to let anything of the nature happen. She suddenly had the desire to get as far away from Commander Cullen as she could manage in order to gain control of herself. “On second thought, you should go ahead. I did promise Adan I would find elfroot. A small repayment for the trouble he went through for me.”

He looked back slightly and nodded, noticing a sudden change in tone. “Then I suppose I’ll see you back at camp.”

* * *

 

Drill this morning had been trying. The small ache that was always there had grown into full blown pain during the night. He hadn’t slept really at all. And the thirst he felt was incredible. Maybe if he could take just a small bit of it he would feel better. _No_ , he shook his head at himself. He would not give in, it had been months. He wouldn’t let it control him anymore, he would not give any more of his life to the lyrium. He couldn’t. The stakes were too high. He was better without it, wasn’t he? He had come so far, he had to believe he could do this. He just needed to rest and maybe the craving would pass.

Cullen stood now in the war room, holding on for just a little bit longer. One more meeting with the Herald and he could retreat for at least the rest of the day. Attempt to nurse the pain a bit. She and Cassandra were leaving for the Hinterlands again. Cassandra could tell something wasn’t right nearly immediately, he could tell by the way she looked at him suspiciously. But of course she would. She knew what was going on and she was always on alert. He hoped no one else had noticed. So far he had done well hiding the pain, but today was the worst he experienced since the first few days he had been without the lyrium. He was working himself too hard, he knew that. But how else would they be ready for whatever came out of that hole in the sky? The Herald couldn’t do it on her own. She would require troops and power behind her when the time came.

Since the day on the hill he had tried to distance himself from the Herald. Being sure to speak only professionally. He couldn’t keep entertaining the idea that something other than comradery could be there, he had let the flirting go too far already. He couldn’t even afford a friendship, not right now. It hadn’t been that hard really because it had seemed she had come to that same conclusion herself. She hadn’t spoken to him outside of the war room for days. He kept finding himself trying to find an excuse to speak with her, but quickly removed the thoughts from his mind redirecting to his work and his troops. He just felt so…drawn to her. He was working closely with a number of women and none of them were unattractive, but something about Lady Trevelyan was just…he couldn’t put his finger on it, it was just different. There was a time in his life he would have reasoned that what he was feeling meant something, whether it be fate or a sign from the Maker. But he was past believing in such foolishness now.

In the war room, he knew Lady Tevelyan had noticed something was different about him. When others were speaking he could see her out of the corner of his eye, looking up stealing glances. He tried to look down and keep his focus on the war table, but he kept seeing the movement of her eyes and had stolen a few glances himself trying to read her expression. He could tell she was concerned. When the meeting had adjourned she lingered for a just a moment, he almost thought she was going to stay, to ask him if everything was alright, but she left without a word. _It is better this way_ , he thought. With her gone it would be easier and there would be less distraction. And today he could rest.

With everyone cleared from the room, he closed the door behind him making sure to secure the latch. Luckily his quarters were close and the walk to his chamber was a mere ten steps from the door of the war room. He was sure if it were any further away he may not have made it. He pulled his armor off quickly once inside, immediately gaining himself some small relief when the weight of it released from his body. Leaving the armor piled on the floor, he retrieved a pair of linen trousers from his trunk and pulled them to his waist. He sat on the edge of the bed, resting the weight of his head in his palms. He kneaded his temples with the heels of his hands and using his fingertips massaged his scalp, working his way back behind his ears and down his neck.

The pain had only grown in intensity from the morning. By now his head was pounding and the sound of his own pulse echoed through his ears. If he was going to sleep this off he needed the wine. He looked to the desk where he usually kept it corked. The cup was there, sitting on a stack of tattered books, as were some scattered coins and a jar of ink, but the wine was not in its usual place. He remembered where it had been last, sitting on the small table by the door. He left it there weeks ago when he had given some of the drink to Lady Trevelyan.  Despite the pain, he smiled as he remembered that night. It was the first real time they had spoken, and he knew the things she told him hadn’t been spoken to anyone else in the Inquisition before. He shared some of it with the other leaders, but some he kept for himself.

He lifted the bottle and withdrew the cork. It brought him a small amount of happiness knowing the last lips to have touched the wine were hers, as silly as that seemed. He resolved to himself that drinking from the same wine was as close as he would ever dare to come to her lips. He threw back a swig of the drink, recorking it and slamming it down back in its place on the desk. As the room started to spin he made his way to his bed, crawling between the cool sheets. He drifted off content as he remembered how sweet the pillow had smelled that first night he had slept in his bed after her, wishing he could still breath it in.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Laurel talk at camp. They return to Haven with allies and Cullen is not happy with her decision to help the mages.

“…and then Hawke took both staffs, threw them up in the air and said ‘see, now _that’s_ how you kill two birds’ and I swear even the elf smiled.”

Laurel laughed heartily. Solas even chuckled a little, slightly entertained by Varric’s recount. Their new companion, the Grey Warden Blackwall, had enjoyed the story as well and was settling in quite nicely with the group. The daylight was fading and they had decided it was time to set up camp. Varric had been telling stories since the stew had hit the fire and it had been long in their bellies. For the most part the party had been enjoying his tales of the Champion of Kirkwall. The seeker, however, was not impressed.

Cassandra scoffed. “Oh Varric, he didn’t? How did the Templars not see and arrest him on the spot?”

“I swear Seeker. You can’t make something like that up!” Varric affirmed.

“I find that very hard to believe.” She sneered.

“Suit yourself, Seeker,” he shrugged and stretched his arms above his head, his mouth widened to a sleepy yawn. “I’m off to bed before _this_ one stabs me with the daggers coming from her eyes.”

Blackwall and Solas retired into their tents as well, leaving Laurel and Cassandra by the fireside watching the embers burn in silence. Laurel enjoyed the quiet, and with Cassandra it seemed natural. She wasn’t much of a talker, she didn’t need to fill the air with useless babble to feel comfortable. Still, she wondered what went through Cassandra’s mind at times like this, when she just sat in the stillness. She knew the type of things that went through her head, the things and the people she tried not to think of that still came to mind. But with all their comfort with each other they had never really gotten to know much about each other.

“Cassandra, we’ve been traveling together for some weeks. When will you actually tell me more about yourself?” Laurel asked in caution.  

Cassandra pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes. “Is that really necessary?”

“I only wanted to get to know you better,” Laurel said raising her shoulders. “Is there any harm in us becoming closer?”

“I suppose not. It does occur to me I don’t know much about you either.”

Laurel smiled with a raised brow. “You first.”

Despite her agreement Cassandra still looked at her with annoyance. “Ugh, what is there to know? I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of how I saved the Divine which are completely exaggerated. You know I’m from Nevarra, 78th in line to the throne, I was right hand to the Divine. What more could you want?”

“What about your family?”

“Well, my brother and I were raised by my uncle. He was a mortalitasi.”

Laurel looked confused. “A mortali-what?”

“A Death Mage, he cared for the dead. In Nevarra we don’t burn our bodies, they are kept in crypts which a mage watches over and my uncle was one of those mages. After my parents were executed, he took care of us,” Cassandra explained.  

Laurel looked into the flames, lost in their red peaks for a moment. “I see. What about your brother? I grew up with three myself.”

Cassandra continued. “Anthony was a dragon hunter, as were many in our line. I was going to follow his footsteps when I was old enough. After he died I decided to join the Seekers of Truth instead.”

Laurel’s lips parted and her eyes drew away from the flames to her companion’s face. “What happened to Anthony?”

“I prefer not to speak of it,” Cassandra murmured.

Laurel swallowed. “I…I understand. I’ve lost a brother as well.” She leaned over her knees, her arm wrapped around her legs. She poked a stick into the fire to stoke it, staring into its flames. Cassandra looked up at her, complete compassion in her eyes. Laurel continued, still looking away into the fire. “Gared. He died during his service to the Templars. We were close. I know it’s never the same after they’re gone.”

“I’m sorry, truly. For both our sakes.” This was not a bond one desired to share, but it was now there.

“As am I,” Laurel whispered, weakly smiling.

Cassandra took a small breath. “I didn’t know your brother was a Templar. I’m sure he would have been proud of what you’ve become. What you are doing in the name of the Maker.”

Laurel’s look was still stoic, eyes still linked to the fire fluttering. “It doesn’t always feel like that’s what I’m doing.”

“You have done more for the Inquisition than you realize,” Cassandra said firmly.

She had no words to offer for a moment. She could feel her jaw becoming stiff as she took shallow breaths, still looking into the flames, unable to tear away. The fire crackled and ashes floated above as the bark on the wood turned white. The air distorted just above where the heat hit the cool air of the night. She pushed her eyes closed and moved her head side to side. What had she really done for the Inquisition? The way people looked at her, like she was some sort of hero or that she was holy in some way, it was always unnerving. If they only knew how she felt inside. Like she was falling apart. All of this was just another lie. Maybe Laurel really did die that day in the conclave, she hadn’t been Laurel since then. She didn’t feel whole anymore. She hadn’t heard her own name in a very long time. First she was the survivor, then the prisoner. Then she was the Herald. What would she be next? Not Laurel. Not the only thing she really wanted to be anymore. It felt like a cruel joke. She had spent so many years hiding her name only to wish to hear nothing else now.

She stood, brushing her hands together to rub away the dirt. “Apparently it hasn’t been enough. We can’t get the mages or the Templars to even speak to us. I don’t know how we’re going to move forward. Neither side can look past this war.”

Cassandra sighed, bringing her fingers to her brows. “Divine Justinia knew this war was coming long before it began. She tried to stop it. It seems it was inevitable.”

Laurel turned her back to Cassandra, raising her hand to open the canvas flap of the tent they shared. “If she couldn’t stop it, what makes you think we can?” she said skeptically.

Cassandra came to her feet, grasping the back of Laurel’s arm. “Because we have you. You say you don’t believe you have been chosen. Does that mean you also don’t believe in the Maker?”

“I believe he exists… or at least did once.” She stooped as she moved into the shelter, not bothering to look back at her comrade. She dropped to her knees, loosening the ties to unravel her bedroll. She could hear water pour and the fire sizzled out, the smell of smoke of a deadened fire faintly filled the air. The canvas rustled behind her as pieces of armor clanked hitting the ground. She turned to Cassandra and continued to explain, letting out a heavy sigh. “For a very long time I turned my back on the Chantry. I realize now that didn’t mean I had to turn my back on Andraste and the Maker as well. Something I can’t explain did happen that day at the Conclave,” she admitted. “Something in me changed. I don’t know what yet.”

“You survived,” Cassandra said simply, as she crawled into her roll. She rolled to her back, looking up at the tanned cloth above their heads.  “You don’t realize it yet, but deep down you know there is a reason. You were sent to us when we needed you the most. My faith tells me that it was not an accident.”  

Laurel laid on top of her bed roll, too hot and sweaty to even think of slipping inside. She turned her back to the seeker once again, resting her cheek flat on her forearm with her hand beneath her head. She lazily looked at the tent wall she faced, watching it move to the wind. Maybe Cassandra was right. People believed in her and trusted her, for the first time in her life. For so long it had felt like she walked a path leading nowhere. Like when she had been a wanderer, moving from city to city, struggling to find her place in the world. Now she had a clear purpose, seemingly shown to her by some divine hand. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to clear the questions from her mind. Tonight she would sleep and hope that tomorrow would bring her closer finding answers.  

 

* * *

 

The trek back to Haven felt longer than usual, but it still wasn’t long enough to put off the inevitable. Laurel knew the others weren’t going to be happy with her when she returned. Cassandra was already quite upset at what had transpired, what she had committed the Inquisition to. But she hadn’t seen the things Laurel had seen. Action had to be taken. For the first time since the conclave, she had felt confident that she was making the right decision. The others would just have to live with it.

As they drew close to Haven, she dismounted her steed, her feet free from the loops before the horse even came to a stop. She stormed ahead of the others in silence, watching the ground to avoid eyes of judgment. She wasn’t sure if reports had reached Haven ahead of them, but if they had she was in no mood for the assault of questions and looks. In Redcliff she felt her choice had been sound, but Laurel worried she would falter in her stance if it were questioned. She passed through the barracks first, then past the training grounds where the Commander watched glaringly with arms crossed at his charges. As she passed his gaze turned to her, his eyes focused on her like a predator who had just spotted its next meal. His brows were completely inverted, and his stare was intense as his eyes squinted with anger. So the reports had reached Haven? And the reaction was exactly as she expected. She would have to explain herself. A prospect she did not look forward to. As if anyone would understand.

She continued on her trek, determined to make it to the war room before she was stopped. She looked back to see the Commander had left his post and was now stalking after her and closing in on her heels. She reached the doors of the Chantry and turned quickly to assume a steady stance in its entrance. The Commander stopped just short of ramming into her.  She stood strong with her arms at her sides with a look of sheer defiance, clenching her jaw as she prepared for the onslaught she knew was coming. She had chosen the mages over the Templars. And worse yet she had allowed them to be free if they swore to help the Inquisition. It went against everything she had believed only a few months ago, but it felt like the right decision.

Commander Cullen approached her, hand clenched at his sides and his head titled in a predatory stare. “What happened?” he bellowed. “You sided with the _mages_? What were you thinking?”

“I made a decision,” she screamed throwing up her hands in frustration. “Instead of just standing around bickering about it!” she roared.

From behind her a loud shushing sound echoed off the walls of the Sanctuary. She looked back to see a sister in her Chantry robes with a finger held to her mouth. The commander looked up sheepishly at the sister, as they both realized their surroundings. He sighed and lowered his head, one hand moved from his hip to the back of his neck where his palm found itself often. Laurel looked around, suddenly self-conscious and turned heel toward the war room. She took a deep breath as she leaned in defeat over the war table, letting out a heavy sigh. Commander Cullen closed the door quietly behind him as he entered the room. As he looked at her with her head hung he suddenly felt very regretful for his outburst. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” he murmured.

She lifted her head and sighed. “Let’s just…wait for the others.”

He looked on her, noticing now the extent of what she had been through. A gash ran across her temple and soot covered parts of her face, as if she had been near fire. Parts of her leathers were singed and he noticed now she held her side as if her ribs had been broken. She was breathing heavily, trying to endure the pain. “Why have you not been healed?”

“I would rather not be touch by any mages right now, thank you.”

“What happened? Are you…alright?”

She shook her head, her voice wavering. “No, I don’t think I am. What I saw was…horrible. I cannot even adequately describe…”

He approached the table stopping beside her, looking on her sympathetically.  “I’m listening if you want to try.”

She looked up at him, her mouth downturned in pain, the wear of the experience evident on her face. She swallowed, wincing as the breath she took sent a stab through her side.  “There was this device, this sort of token one of the Tevinter mages had. It propelled us through time. Dorian, one of the mages, he and I were caught in its blast,” she rubbed across her brow and tucked a hair behind her ear as she tried to think. “There was this thing called the Elder one. It’s what put the breech in the sky. He wants me because of the mark. He said that this,” she said holding out her marked hand, “this was a mistake. That I was a mistake. When we went forward, I saw what would happen…what will happen, if I don’t close the breech. If this Elder one is allowed to succeed.”

“What did you see?” he said shaking his head, slitting his eyes.

She looked at him pained, breathing as hesitation spread across her face. “I saw you die.”

His lips parted. “What else?”

“Leliana, she was alive, but…what they had done to her,” she started feeling sick to her stomach, unware whether the pain or the memory had caused it. ”She had been tortured. I could hear her screams. Her face was…unrecognizable. And they had turned Cassandra into this…this creature, red crystal grew from everywhere,” she said in disgust. Her eyes moved back and forth, searching for the words. “Red lyrium. They had poisoned them with it. Poisoned everyone I left behind. Their eyes glowed red and their voices were so unnatural.” Her wide eyes met his, but they looked past as she remembered the horror. “The red lyrium, it sang and it made you feel…I can’t even explain, it was just…horrible.” Her voice cracked and her lips were beginning to quiver as she tried to go on. When her eyes pressed closed, wetness fell from her eyes, leaving a trail through the soot and dirt on her face. “The whole world had been destroyed, it was gone, just blackness because of this Elder thing. Dorian and I, the mage, somehow we made it back to the present. We were able to stop the blast, but we still might not be able to stop it from happening again. The Elder One will find another way. He has the Templars, and the Tevinter mages.”

The look on her face was one he had seen before. On battle worn soldiers who had witnessed some trauma, on Templar recruits the first time they were part of a failed harrowing, perhaps he had even seen the look in a reflection. He swallowed, pushing away the emotion. “We will stop it.”

“How?” she whimpered through lips thick with froth, using the back of her fist to wipe her nose and the tears that hung from her chin.

He felt sorry for her. He had thought with her gone things would be easier, he would get over whatever chantry boy crush he had developed, but it still clung to his insides as he watched her. He couldn’t allow his judgment to become clouded by her. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, and right now he needed a soldier, not a babbling damsel. If this is what she needed, what the Inquisition need, he would treat her like the soldier. She couldn’t be weak, not now.

“Damn it! Do not question this Inquisition, Trevelyan! And do not question yourself,” he commanded. “You are the only weapon we have against the breech. You are the Herald of Andraste whether you want to believe it or not. Start acting like it,” he bellowed. “If not for yourself then for the rest of Thedas. This isn’t about just you anymore, if you have learned nothing from this then let it be that. If you don’t think we can do this, we have already failed, and we are all as good as dead. The future you saw will be real.”

Her eyes widened at him and her posture turned upright and stiff. He watched her as she regained her bearing, straightening her face as well as her back and dropping her hands to clutch to her sides in a position of attention. “Understood.”

He sighed heavily and rubbed his brow as it wrinkled. He spoke more softly, to the woman now, not the soldier. “We have had this discussion before. Many of our recruits are here for you as much as they are here to fight against the breech. They believe you have been touched by Andraste. Be the Herald they need you to be.”

He was right of course. Only the Herald could close the breech, and she had been marked. She was the Herald now, she was what was needed. She knew what a future without her would look like, she had seen what would happen if she failed. That was the most disturbing thing of all, what was really riding on her shoulders. It really was the world that rested on her. This was the turning point, this was when she would step into her role and take on what lay ahead no matter the cost. Even if the cost were her life. Her eyes fluttered. “You’re right.”

The change on her face was subtle, but he had seen it. She had decided what she needed to do at that very point in time. Her distant stare broke and she returned to the present as blood began to trickle from the wound at her temple, droplets making a small sound as they hit the map she had leaned over once again. She winced as she touched her fingers to the wound, pulling away to examine the blood fresh on her hand.

Cullen watched as the blood leaked from the wound, reacting quickly pulling the cloth of his cloak up to press into the gash to stifle its flow. “You’re bleeding,” he uttered. He cupped his hand behind her head and cradled it while putting pressure on the wound at her temple with his free hand. He drew her close without any thought. One of her hands touched his side and rested there while the other gripped his arm at the crook of his elbow, squeezing it, wincing and gasping at the pain increased by the pressure applied on the bleeding cut.

Suddenly, both became very aware of the close proximity they held. Slowly Laurel’s eyes drifted up to his. She watched the nub in his throat bob as he swallowed looking down on her. As their eyes met, her chest burned. She became conscious of every beat of the heart in her chest as it started to ache. She had never noticed before how unusual his eyes were. They looked like honey, they were deep and kind, but bore a certain sadness. His face was so strong and the scar on his lip beckoned to be touched. With his cloak drawn up, she could smell him on it. She smelled the musk of his sweat, the soap he used to wash, spices he scented himself with. The longer she looked on him, the more she had to force herself to take breath. Maker he was a beautiful man. She could feel his pulse rising too, through the hand she dug into his arm. Cullen watched her study his face, watched her chest rise and fall and her eyes draw to his, he wondered what she was thinking, what she would do if he leaned down and kissed her right now.  If they were different people and they weren’t in the midst of a war maybe he would have. But he couldn’t. He had just said it himself, she was the Herald of Andraste and their only chance. Who knew what the future held for her, for any of them.

The door cracked open. Both of their eyes jerked to the entrance and they looked as though caught in some inappropriate act. A man entered Cullen did not recognize, but he carried a mage’s staff. He stood smirking in the frame with his arms crossed.

“Would you like me to take care of that for you, or do you enjoy ruining perfectly good armor?” the mage quipped.

Laurel smiled and nodded, pushing Cullen’s arm away gently. The mage motioned her to take a seat in the chair situated in the corner and began his work closing the wound. Cullen eyed the man suspiciously crossing him arms as he watched him manipulate the veil into his healing magic. “Dorian I presume?”

“Oh goody, you’ve already been talking about me, Laurel. I can’t help but talk about me either. It is my favorite subject. You must be Commander Cullen.”

“Stay here and finish your work, I’ll find the others,” Cullen grunted as he left the room. He had never heard anyone refer to her by her given name before and it bothered him hearing it from the mage. It had to be one of the first times he had heard it even spoken out loud. _Laurel_. It suited her.  

Out in the sanctuary Laurel and Dorian could hear a loud discussion taking place. Cullen had turned his anger toward Cassandra for her part, or the lack thereof, in the mages freedom. She was equally as disagreeable, but to Laurel’s relief defended her decision and offered her support, pointing out that the help they needed had been gained. Josephine insisted the alliance could not be taken back and Leliana seemed satisfied at what had transpired, her first choice the mages all along. Dorian finished healing Laurel quickly and offered a hand helping her from her seat, tilting his head toward the door. “Shall we join? I always loved a good circular argument.”

“After you,” she motioned.

Cassandra was slamming her fist into her hand when Laurel spotted them. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

Laurel hung in the shadows until the discussion cooled. She approached from the dark, healed and now calmed. The advisors watched her in awkward silence as she approached, aware she had heard everything said in her absence and hoping they had not been overly harsh. She hugged her body, gripping her elbows. “What now?” she shrugged.

Cullen heavily sighed. “We keep doing what we’re doing. We take it one battle at a time. It’s going to take time to organize our troops and now the mage recruits. I just hope we don’t lose any of our allies to possession before our work is done,” he growled. He glared up at the mage who stood watching the scene unfold. “Let’s take this to the war room.”

Leliana placed a kind hand on Laurel’s shoulder. “Later you and I can discuss what you saw in this dark future.”

Laurel nodded, taking her leave to let the advisors discuss their plans. Josephine entered first, followed closely by Leliana and Cassandra. Cullen stopped in the door and looked back at Laurel curiously. He waved her to follow. “Join us. None of this means anything without you and your mark.”

She looked down to her feet and winced in jest as her face returned to his view. “Damn. I thought I could get away with sitting the assault on the breech out. Take a nap instead, maybe take a walk, climb more hills in search of imaginary elfroot.”

“What is it they say, no rest for the wicked?” he smirked.

She blew a short laugh. “Surprisingly that’s not the first time I’ve been called that. Not even the first time today.”

“We’ll meet you in there,” he rasped leaving the door open.

She turned to the mage, offering a handshake. “Dorian, it’s been a pleasure.”

Dorian took her hand and leaned forward placing a kiss on its back. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re staying?” she questioned, reclaiming her hand.

“The south is so charming and rustic, I adore it to little pieces. And I for one would like to take a look at this breech, have a good go at it.”

A look of satisfaction spread over her face. “I must admit, I’m happily surprised.”

Dorian sighed. “Not all of us Vents are bad, some of us have fought for eons against this sort of thing. We both saw what happens if we don’t close the breech and stop this Elder One. I want to make sure that future does not come to pass. It’s my duty to stand with you. Plus you Fereldans are not all that bad looking.”

“I’m not a Fereldan, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The Commander eyed the mage from inside the war room at his position at the war table, pings of jealousy tapping at his chest. “Herald, we’re waiting,” he called from inside.

Dorian leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Later you and I are talking about _that_ one and you’re going to tell me what you were doing when I walked in.”

Her mouth gaped open and her eyes widened in shock. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning from Redcliff with the rebel mages on her side, Laurel gets the chance to try to relax. Dorian and Sera join her for drinks. The next day she has a little chat with the Commander.

After the dismissal of the war council the only thing Laurel wanted was a break. After today it felt things would change. Soon mages would be arriving, and with an alliance secured, a battle was now on the horizon. Soon it would be over. But tonight was not the end. With the tilt of a mug and the parting of her lips, the amber brew ran cool and sweet over her tongue. A few gulps and it was gone and she stared at the bottom an empty cup. “Cripes sake Heraldy, wots got up your arse?”

Laurel tipped her head back down away from the ceiling and startled. A grinning elf with a bad haircut sat directly across from her and she swore no one had been there before. Or was it two elves? She couldn’t tell, they kept moving. “Sera,” she hiccupped. “What are you doing here?”

“Pffttt, it’s a tavern, what do you think I’m doing here?” Sera scowled, throwing her hands up flicking her wrists. “Practicing the Chant of Light or wha’ever it is?”

Laurel giggled at the thought. “I suppose not. I imagine that might put a bit of a damper on things.”

Sera sat back looking satisfied, leaning both elbows on the back of her chair. She gripped not a cup, but an entire wine bottle in her right hand. “I’m just glad to see the Herald Lady ain’t some stiff, yeah. You’re people instead of some shite noble.”

“Ah…I’ll take that as a compliment?” Laurel said raising an eyebrow curiously.   

Sera sat up slamming a hand hard on the table, frowning deeply. “Don’t be stupid, course being people is a compliment. Not like some of these rich assholes think they deserve something because of what comes before their names.” 

“Heh, that’s me, a person…I think?” Laurel said sheepishly, slightly laughing. She winced for a moment at her still sore ribs. Too bad reversing time hadn’t reversed her injuries, or erased the memories she had of the would-be future.

Sera relaxed again with a shrug and took a swig from her wine bottle. “Still, never woulda pegged you for the tavern type.”

“I’ve spent quite a lot of time in taverns, thank you very much,” Laurel said sitting up straightening her back. “I’ve always enjoyed a good drink.”

“What a coincidence, so have I,” a voice called over her shoulder. Dorian had come sweeping into the tavern much the way Laurel imagined he would were he making a grand entrance into a ballroom. “Though the wine back home tends to be a little less, well to put it lightly, shit.”

“Dorian. You’re here too. Yay!” she said with an air of sarcasm. “Now I can really relax while the whole of the Inquisition watches me get pissed,” she groaned. She looked around at the patrons, knowing they all probably recognized her. There was bound to be some gossip of her presence in the establishment. She wondered if the Herald of Andraste was actually allowed to come enjoy a drink in a tavern or if she was supposed to drink depressed and alone in her quarters.

Sera’s entire face creased again, looking completely disgusted. “Fereldan wine not good enough for you magey? This is exactly the kind of tit I’m talking about. Probably expects us to tip his chalice for him or something.”

Dorian sat down in his well-practiced way. “Having a drink then are we? I could definitely use one after the day we had, or should I say year,” he sighed. He tried not to show it, but the mission they had been on wore on him deeply too. He had seen Felix die, and though in the end he lived it was still disturbing. Felix didn’t have long, he knew that. It was still hard to see what he could have become.

Sera laughed, or more like cackled. “Looks like more than just ‘a’ drink Heraldy. Wots that, number 4?”

Laurel brought her hand limply to her chest, feigning offense. “No, it’s number 3. What do you take me for, some sort of lush? 4 would just be ridiculous,” she said putting on airs. “Now excuse me while I order another drink.” She spun to the side of her chair and using the table and chair back for leverage hoisted herself upon her feet, stopping for a moment to blink until the room decided to stop its dance.  

“That’s the spirit,” Dorian cheered her on with the pump of a fist. “Oh look I made a pun,” he laughed as Sera looked on confused. “You know, like a spirit is a drink. Oh nevermind, you’re not very smart are you?” he waved dismissively pointing his nose in the air.

Sera rolled her eyes at the mage, the ‘fuck you’ clear in her eyes. She decided to save the words for later in case he pissed her off even more. “Ugh, why did she have to bring you lot here?”

“What, you’re not a fan of devilishly handsome young men?” Dorian quipped.

“What I’m not a fan of is people who bust out in demons and shoot lightening out their arses,” she sneered.

Dorian raised his brows, befuddled. “Bust out in…? Never mind, I won’t even dignify that with a response,” he said shaking his head.

Laurel returned to the table carrying her drink and another bottle of wine, slamming it on the table between her two companions. “Play nice you two.”

Sera shrugged. “Just having a bit of fun Heraldy. Never met a half decent mage up close before.”

Dorian laughed, grabbing the bottle to refill his glass. “That has to be the best compliment I’ve gotten all day. I think I might like you Sera.”

Laurel sighed, burying her head in her hands over the table. “I really just wanted to drink my dinner tonight, can you two take this somewhere else? I planned on waking up with a headache, not going to bed with one.”

Dorian reached over and ran a comforting hand over her back. “Feeling sorry for yourself I see. Well, what is it? Tell Uncle Dorian all about it.”

She sat back up pressing her lips together. Her eyes closed trying to hide her irritation. “I don’t feel sorry for myself, it’s just…you saw the same things I did.” Each stroke of Dorian’s massaging hand upon her back eased her tension little by little. “I know what’s at stake now. I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. I just wanted to forget it all for a night.”

“I know someone who could help you forget for a night,” he suggested with an eyebrow raised squeezing her shoulder. She knew he was talking about the Commander.

Laurel brought her hand up connecting its back with Dorian’s chest. “Dorian! I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I saw how you two were looking at each other when I walked in,” he teased.

Sera’s ears perked and she sat up leaning her arms on the table with interest. “Wots this? Lady Trevelyan’s got a crush?”

Laurel scoffed, her eyes rolled as her head moved back and forth. “Certainly not, you’re reading into it. He was just trying to keep me from bleeding everywhere. If you would have walked in 30 seconds earlier you would have heard him screaming at me. I’m sure he hates me now,” she groaned covering her eyes and rubbing them away.  

“We’ll see,” he smirked, leaning back into his chair with his arms crossed. “I think you should seduce him. I know I wouldn't mind getting my hands on a piece of meat like that.”

Sera laughed with a snort. “Well that explains a lot.” She squinted curiously in thought. “What’s that like by the way, is it sort of like jousting?” she questioned.

“Oh Sera,” Laurel squealed shaking her head. “Please I don’t need _that_ visual.”

Dorian laughed wildly. “Well if you’d like me to explain it to you I will, but only because you are so very dear to me.”

Laurel stood up quickly, using the table for balance, nearly knocking her chair over in the process. “And that is my cue to exit. Goodnight Dorian. Goodnight Sera. Drinks are on me.”

* * *

 

Laurel awoke at dawn, her head burning only slightly, very glad she had not worked on the last drink of the night. She’d have to remember to thank Sera and Dorian for that one. The conversation of the night had gone in a very strange direction to say the least. Something about lightening, jousting, and seduction. She couldn’t imagine what was said after she left. An outspoken elf who hated magic and a mage who was never serious and not afraid to say anything made for very interesting companions indeed. She made a mental note to remember to bring them both along on her next excursion for the sake of those left behind at Haven, she wasn’t sure anyone else could handle their sense of humor.

It was chilly when she woke, the fire she had let die out last night still sat black and cold. For once she had slept well, these days sleep was a luxury. A glass of water and the cold quickly nursed away the ache in her head. It was barely light when she dressed, but the atmosphere outside her quarters was already buzzing. Already preparing for the battle ahead she supposed. A small number of mages had returned with her to Haven, but the next week would see many more traveling to join its ranks. More recruits would likely follow, those sympathetic to the mages or opposed to the Templars. Hopefully even a few Templars themselves who still wished to serve. At least they had a few Templars on their side already, including their Commander.

Last night the mage had come out and said it, Dorian noticed the strangeness between herself and the Commander. It wasn’t just something she imagined. She had never felt so confused in her life. One minute he was screaming at her, absolutely livid. The next he was soft, almost caring. She noticed he was the same with his soldiers. Tough and sometimes even ruthless when he needed to be, but nurturing when they needed that as well. He had snapped her out of her self-pity of the moments before the others had seen her. She was grateful for that. Too many times she let her fear and her rage get the best of her. He helped remind her that she was a soldier. And he was right, she couldn’t keep questioning everything. If she didn’t believe she could do this then why should anyone else? The Inquisition had started as just a few outcasts. Now they were on their way to having a full army. The advisors knew what they were doing and they trusted her, she would have to trust them and they believed they would be victorious. She needed to thank him.

Cullen was in his usual place this morning, quietly watching. He stood overlooking the recruits’ weapon training, crossed armed and scowling. Breaking his focus only when he shouted his commands. Every once in a while a recruit would garner from him a simple headshake, too sorry to even effect a shout from his lips. He had a lot of work to do if he expected to get these soldiers into fighting shape before the attack on the breech. Despite all that happened and the time that had passed while she was on the last mission, he was still all too aware of Lady Trevelyan, eyes always drawing to her if he sensed she could be near. He thought the distance would sway his feelings, but as the saying went, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Even his infuriation at her dealings with the mages hadn’t changed anything. And whatever moment they had in the war room could not be shaken from his mind. He had dreamt of it the night before. One of the first happy dreams he had had in a very long time. He cursed himself for allowing such nonsense.

He spotted her quickly, she must have been up early that morning. She was returning from outside the camp at Haven. He knew she approached from his flanks, but pretended not to notice until she spoke his name.

“Commander Cullen.”

He kept his arms guarded across his front, looking over at her only briefly and nodding. “Herald.” In that second he gazed upon her, he noticed she looked renewed. Much different than he had seen her the day before.

She stood beside him with her hands at the small of her back, turning her gaze to the direction his eyes looked. “I wanted to thank you. What you said yesterday, I needed that. I thought a lot about it afterward.”

He looked over to her now. She had thought about what he said then, while he was thinking about the way she looked at him. He wondered if she had thought about that too. “You’re feeling better then?”

“Thanks to your pep talk and Dorian’s healing, I feel as good as new,” she smiled.

 _Dorian_ , he scoffed internally. The mage, why did she have to bring him up? He had heard enough of mages. And this one was far too friendly with the Herald. He showed his disdain too obviously. “I still don’t understand why you let the mages go free.”

She took a breath to remain calm. “We needed them. I don’t know what other choice I had.”

“You had other options,” he shook his head. “We could have kept them under guard, locked them up for their crimes and made them help us, done something other than promising them their freedom. I don’t like the idea of mages walking around unchecked.”

She let out a condescending laugh. “Because locking them up worked out so well before. Isn’t that what started this whole mess?” she spat.

He sighed. “You’re right. It just…it goes against everything I have ever known.”

Laurel pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It goes against everything you have ever known? A giant hole in the sky doesn’t? A woman walking out of the fade doesn’t? This..this _thing_ on my hand doesn’t?” She crossed her arms looking down at her feet. “Because it certainly goes against everything I have ever known. To all of you it’s just this gift sent to save you. Have you ever thought of the person attached to it?”

“Of course I have,” he paused clearing his throat and bringing his hand behind his neck. “We all have. Forgive me. It’s easy to forget you carry a burden we don’t. We had a choice, we volunteered to be here. We’re all here to help ease that burden if you’ll let us.”

“No matter, it’s there,” she exasperated, her eyes turned upward. “It’s staying and that’s it. Maybe you’re right, maybe I should have tried harder to get the Templars to help us. They could have weakened the breech instead of pouring more magic into the mark.”

He breathed out heavily, crossing his arms again. “You made the decision you felt was right. I don’t agree with it, but I support it.”

“Thank you.” Her brows furrowed as she spread her palm and looked down at it, sighing as she gazed upon the mark.

He watched her expression as she held out her hand, wishing he could comfort her in some way. “Does it trouble you?”

She chuckled and raised her gaze to his. “Does it trouble me? What kind of question is that? Of course it troubles me.”

He reached toward her, widening his eyes in curiosity. “May I…look at it?”

She smirked offering her left hand. “Sure, let’s all gawk at the freak.” He met her eyes grinning as he took her hand. He pulled it closer, running his fingers over the mark, quiet as he studied it. It glowed under her skin, the green dancing across her palm just under her fingers. It seemed to move and almost flow like liquid. It was mesmerizing to look at, like her. Her eyes fluttered at his touch as his fingers ran lightly over her skin and she could feel his breath on her hand as he pulled it even closer. She could see the glow reflect in his eyes as he looked on it quizzically. “It only looks like that when I’m near the breech or close to a rift. The closer I get, the brighter it gets. Otherwise it just looks normal. When I use it, it stings like the dickens. It shoots this strange tingle, almost like a jolt up my arm.”

“That would be the magic, the connection to the veil,” he said letting go. “You’ve never had to feel the sensation before. I used to…ah…I mean… a Templar can feel that sensation when a mage uses their talent. The lyrium does that. Mages feel it when they use their talent.”

“Gared never mentioned anything like that,” she said in awe.

“Gared?” he titled his head.

She took a breath, blowing it out quickly. She looked away, focusing her eyes on the closest set of swords and listened to the metal clank together. She talked about Gared enough, perhaps she should just tell him. He was Templar, he would understand. Maybe it would help to talk about it. “M…my brother who died. I never got the chance to ask him very many questions about being a Templar, I never thought I would miss the chance to. I think he was afraid I would try to follow in his footsteps if he told me too much,” she laughed weekly.

He swallowed, watching her in her pain. “He was right to keep you from them, the Templars are not what they once were. And now they have abandoned the Chantry completely. I certainly disagree with the orders actions, I’m here as proof of that. I have been away for quite some time, but I can try to answer any questions you might have about the Order.”

“Gared _was_ usually right,” she nodded. “Thank you. If we are really to fight against the Templars I’ll need all the information I can get.”

Cullen wasn’t one to usually pry, but he could tell the mention of her brother usually troubled her. He needed to know why, perhaps he could help her in some way. “What happened to him? To your brother.”

She swallowed, considering for a moment. Why shouldn’t he know? “I’m sure you could have guessed. He was a Templar, there’s only a few ways they usually perish,” she paused to take a calming breath. She spoke more quietly now, stoically. “He died at the hand of mages, when our circle rebelled. I know that makes my actions seem strange. That’s what makes all of this more difficult.” She looked to him with her brows creased, biting one side of her cheek. “I hated mages for a very long time. I was angry and I let it cloud my judgment. I still don’t know really what to think of them,” she said moving her jaw looking to the distance again. “You were a Templar, you spent a lot of time with them, what do you think of mages?”

He looked to his soldiers again, wondering what far off scene was playing before her eyes. “During my career I treated mages with distrust, I was cruel. It was unworthy of me. I have seen the suffering magic can inflict.” He stopped for a moment, looking toward the ground and he thought of the memories that haunted him. The ones that came to his dreams every night. The suffering he had not only seen, but experienced firsthand. “It’s hard not to look at all mages a certain way, but I am trying not to do so here,” he said shaking himself from his drifting thoughts. “We are working with them now. I think we need a safeguard to protect the people here.”

“I don’t know how we do that,” she said wiping her brow. “I’m just trying to do things differently than I did before. Not take it out on every mage just because of the actions of a few. I let myself get angry before, and I did some things I regret.”

He grimaced. “I’ve seen you angry, I for one wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

She blew a short laugh from her nose. ““You don’t know the half of it.” She sighed crossing her arms, looking down to her feet. “I made some very bad decisions when it came to mages, I haven’t looked at them like people before now. I guess this is all sort of a way to make up for it. An atonement of sorts.”

“I know the feeling,” he admitted. He met her eyes again in understanding. “Perhaps that is something we can work on together.”

“I’d like that,” she smiled, though more contained than usual.

Cullen turned his head with a wry look as he noticed one of his recruits. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said gently touching her arm then storming toward the soldier. “You there! When he thrust, you have to counter-thrust. And don’t use your sword to block, you’ve got a shield, use it!” He came back with his arms folded at his chest, shaking his head.

Laurel snickered, holding the back of her fist to her mouth to subdue her laughter. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Her smirked and nodded. “I’m sure you have other business to attend to. Should you require anything, I’ll be here.”

As she walked away she had the distinct feeling his eyes were still on her. She looked back to see his head in the process of turning away. Every time she saw him, she grew even more confused. This was not just the Commander anymore, they were getting to know each other on a personal level and that was frightening. When they first met, she felt it. She thought it was intimidation or fear, an uneasy feeling because of his rank. Only now did she realize the true attraction, the pull she felt, more than physically. She breathed in, watching the cloud that formed as she let out the hot air slowly. Yesterday something had happened, there was a moment she couldn’t deny. He was more than just the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, he was also a man. A very, very attractive man. Shit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations for the attack on the breech are underway. Laurel feels useless waiting to perform her role in the assault. Cassandra suggest improving her fighting skills and training with the recruits. Later someone she did not expect nor want to see shows up at the Inquisition's headquarters and causes problems.

Things were becoming cramped at Haven, a good sign. Most of the mages had made the trip to Haven in the last week and preparations had been long on their way. The days had been full. Laurel had done what she could, helped set up temporary quarters, distributed supplies. This many mages did make her nervous though. Perhaps Cullen was right about this much magic this close to the breech being a danger. She made a point to try to learn names when she did speak with a mage and she tried to look at each person as a separate entity, though it was hard. It helped knowing that most of these mages were Fereldan or Orlesian and they couldn’t have directly been responsible for what happened in Ostwick’s circle. Those mages were dead.

There was only one mage she didn’t like particularly well and it had nothing to do with magic. Vivienne, the enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais. She reminded her of another woman she despised: Her mother. Vivienne was not like the other mages, she actually liked the circle. It brought her advantage and prestige. Like her mother, she only thought of how things affected her. And she was cold. Even the way she spoke, high and mighty and the way she called her ‘dear’ and ‘darling’ was infuriatingly similar to her mother. She had always referred to Laurel that way. The first time she had seen her mother show any emotion besides cool indifference or annoyance was at her brother’s memorial. There she had at least looked sad, wiped away a few tears. And she had at least been there. But now was not the time to think of such things. Vivienne was here to help and apparently she was a rather formidable mage. Unfortunately she was invaluable to the Inquisition.

Laurel passed through a small crowd gathered just inside Haven’s gates where supplies were being bought and sold. She made her way to the courtyard that sat at the front of the Chantry. Tents had been set up where the quartermaster distributed supplies and the spymaster and her scouts quartered in some tents in the same area as well. She crossed her arms, watching people come and go from the pair of tents. Slowly she paced, waiting for any opportunity to feel useful. She was supposed to be the most valuable asset the Inquisition had right now, but after a week of sitting idle she was starting to feel without purpose and utterly useless.

Behind her the sound of crunching gravel perked her ears. “You look restless,” Cassandra observed.

Laurel spun on her heels to face the woman, arms still gripped at her elbows as she pursed her lips to chew one corner of her cheek. “I am. I have no idea what to do with myself,” she shrugged. “I’ve already helped everywhere I can. Now I’m just waiting for something to happen,” she eyed the breech.

Cassandra’s eyes squinted. “Let’s just be thankful nothing actually _has_ happened yet.”

“Well the sooner this is over the better,” Laurel shook her head.

Cassandra threw her hands exasperated. “Ugh. Come with me.”

Cassandra walked ahead, swaying her hips as she usually did. She followed until the gritty crunch of gravel turned to the softer crunch of snow. They made their way down the stairs, out of the gates, and towards the span of tents that lined the path leading out of Haven. Cassandra stopped in front of her sparring dummy, turning toward Laurel and leaning on the dummy’s shoulder with her legs crossed. “This is what you can do.”

Laurel gave her a look of skepticism, jutting out her hip while resting her hands on her waist. “He’s not exactly my type.”

Cassandra scowled, looking up at her through the tops of her eyes. “Hit it.”

Laurel sighed. “Don’t I hit enough things?”

“Yes, and I don’t like your technique,” Cassandra scoffed.

Laurel’s mouth gaped in offense. “Tell that to all the demons I’ve decapitated in the last month.”

Cassandra shrugged. “I didn’t say it doesn’t work. I just said it could be better.”

“And hitting a bag of straw is going to help?” Laurel exclaimed.

Cassandra raised her shoulders, sticking out her bottom lip. “Hmm, you’re right. Maybe we should ask Commander Cullen to teach you.”

Laurel’s eyes creased as her hands curled at her sides. “No! Fight me! If you think you’re so much better than me, fight me.”

Cassandra laughed. “I don’t feel like knocking you on your ass.”

“How would you like a foot up yours?” quipped through her teeth.

From behind the tent, Commander Cullen emerged chuckling. Laurel tried to ignore the way her heart slightly jumped at the sight of him. “She’s just trying to get you riled up so she can use you for practice. She’s already devoured half my recruits.”

Her eyes narrowed toward Cassandra and she cupped her hands together, forming a choking gesture. “Cassandra, I could kill you!”

“I doubt that,” Cassandra grinned.  

“Maybe you _could_ use some work,” Cullen teased.

Laurel shifted her jaw in annoyance, using her eyes to throw daggers at the Commander. “You all planned this, didn’t you? Is this what you all talk about in that little war room of yours when I’m not there?”

Cullen shrugged. “Perhaps there was a discussion. You’re one of the better soldiers out here, but for one, your shield work needs some…adjustment. You may end up fighting against mages and Templars, these aren’t normal soldiers. They have fire and acid, as do some demons we may face. The way you aim your shield leaves you open to burns. You have to aim it lower.”

“Anything else, almighty exalted ones?” Laurel said raising one hand and stepping into a bow.

Cassandra piped in. “You’re too stiff, you treat your shield as only a shield and your sword as only a sword. Sometimes they are both. A shield can do as much if not more damage than a blade when used properly.” 

Laurel’s arms crossed over her front again and one shoulder raised to her chin. “Fine, I agree that maybe I could stand to learn a few new things. This is a different type of enemy than I have faced before,” she admitted.

Cassandra raised one brow smugly. “You said you didn’t know what to do with yourself, it seems an answer has presented itself.”

Cullen smirked, one side of his mouth raised higher as always. “Then we can expect you at the training grounds later? We start at 0600 after breakfast in the barracks. You are of course welcome to join the troops for their morning meal. Unless you’d like to get started today.”

“I’ll be there in an hour,” she spat, her look revealing nothing but arrant conviction. She stomped back toward her quarters, intent to fetch proper armor and her practice sword. She turned before disappearing through the gates to call once more to the cohorts, her voice carrying over the camp. “Don’t think I don’t know you two are colluding against me!”  

So they thought she needed more instruction, she would show them just had little she needed. She knew what she was doing on the field. Her training in the military had not made her an expert, but it kept her alive. Sure there had been a few times Cassandra had saved her ass, but it wasn’t like she was _that_ lacking, was she? Still, she couldn’t say she would mind terribly being around the Commander more, just to look at if nothing else. At least she had something to keep her occupied for the time being.

* * *

 

 Laurel raised her chin to the ceiling, groaning as she tried to swallow. Everything hurt, even the muscles in her jaw and especially those in her neck. She winced as she rolled her right shoulder, an attempt to loosen some of the tension, but it only aggravated the stinging purple marks on her arm. The recruits had done a number on her yesterday, they had come a long way since she had seen them fumbling with their shields just a few weeks ago. The bastards had found her weak spot and exploited it thoroughly. No matter how many times she heard the words ‘guard your shoulder’ all those years ago from her drill master, she never could help but leave her right side open to attack. That’s how she’d ended up with her ribs cracked at Redcliff. Now she had to hear the same words from Commander Cullen.

Laurel’s brows pulled together in a wince, the spoon of porridge in her hand might as well have had the weight of an anchor the way her arms felt. A day and half of training and pain is all she felt she had to show for it. Still, if this was got her ready for what laid ahead, it was welcome. From the peripherals of her vision she could see backs of soldiers stiffen at their table. She shifted in her seat as she watched the Commander approach carrying his own bowl of breakfast, hoping to hide from him the ache her entire body suffered. She would not admit that she had been bested and perhaps he and Cassandra had been right. She did need more training. She was sure he already knew he was right by the way his scarred lip lifted nearly to his eye as he took a seat across her.

She glared at him from the tops of her eyes as her face titled down, speaking above the soft roar humming in the tent that served as the mess hall. “Commander.”

“Trevelyan.” The way he had said her name was as though it were meant to provoke something. His raised brow even more provoking. “You should really have that looked at.”

She rested her arms on the table, straightening her back as her nose lifted. “I’m afraid I don’t know you mean.”

He brought his spoon to his lips, taking his eyes from her only long enough to scoop another glob of porridge. “You can try to hide your pain all you want, but I’m not buying it. I’m sure Adan has some sort of salve for you.”

Her eyes followed the spoon to his lips where they were drawn to his scar. She traced it with her eyes. The scar carried her upward to his eyes where she glimpsed only briefly enough to catch their twinkle.  Maker’s breath, the man was even alluring when he was being an ass. She took in air through her nose slowly, attempting to refocus her thoughts. She could feel her face relax from its crease. “I’m sure I can manage,” she said slowly, chin held high.

A short breathy laugh escape from his lips as he shook his head at her stubbornness. “Of that I have no doubt. For what it’s worth, you’re doing well. I’ve only been throwing my best recruits at you.”

The pitch of her voice raised in feigned excitement. “Oh good, do I get a cookie or something?”

“I’m afraid that’s not in the budget,” he quipped, taking another bite as his teeth grazed against the metal spoon.  Was it a twist of her imagination or had he just made a joke? She was impressed. He continued with a question. “Was your training in the Free Marches anything like this?”

She chuckled. Her training there was nothing like this. It was quick, clumsy, it focused on all the wrong things. She learned more from the actual fighting she had done, then again they weren’t at war then, it hadn’t really been necessary. The Commander had done a better job preparing his troops for battle. “You mean did I get the shit beat out of me there too? The answer is yes, though it wasn’t quite so focused. Before we studied swordplay we spent a lot of time on discipline and military customs,” she remembered. “I suppose they thought we would learn how to use our weapons more on the field. We didn’t have years to train like you Templars. They taught us how to hold a weapon properly and where to swing it for the most effect and that was the extent of it. What was your training like?”

He swallowed the mush still thick in his mouth, taking a drink of water to help wash its sticky mass from his teeth. “We studied weapon and combat training extensively, that’s why Templars are some of the best warriors in Thedas. But we were also given an in-depth education in other areas. We studied history, learned improved mental focus, memorized the Chant of Light. I wanted to learn everything, but I will admit my mind sometimes wandered. Inciting the Chant of Light while watching a candle burn to its edges wasn’t the most exciting task.”

Laurel tensed her face as if a sudden bad taste assaulted her tongue. “My parents made me study the Chant for hours every day, I hated it. I had to recite a canticle before supper every night and if I got even a word wrong I was sent to bed. They expected me to join the Chantry, and obviously I did not.”

Cullen raised his shoulder in a slight shrug. “A life devoted to the Chantry is not for everyone.”

She gave him a curious look. “Why did you become a Templar?”

“I could think of no better calling,” he said eagerly. “I was 13 when I left home for the circle.”

“That’s so young,” she breathed pulling her brows to center. “My parents didn't expect me to leave until I was 18.”

“There were some recruits who were much younger,” he explained. “Some had been promised to the order since birth. We learned to look out for one another.”

“I can’t imagine,” she said quietly. “How does one actually go from recruit to Templar?”

“There’s a vigil, we take our first draught of lyrium, and take vows promising our lives to the Maker,” he answered.

She imagined him younger, but just as sullen, perhaps a little softer. Wearing the same armor she saw on every other Templar she’d ever met. She wondered if that boy devoting his life to the Maker knew this is where he would end up. “And where do those vows stand now that you have left the order?”

That was a good question. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” he sighed.

“What sort of vows did you take,” she wondered, her look growing roguish. She was up to something. “I promise to protect against all magic or something?  Do Templars take vows against, oh I don’t know, physical temptations or anything like that?” She tried to pass off the question like it were purely innocent and not at all calculated.

His eyes widened. “Physical? Why would you…,” his voice clogged in his throat for a moment and he cleared it. Suddenly he could not look her in the face. “No, it… is not expected,” he weakly shook his head. He coughed, clearing his throat of residual porridge. “Some may _choose_ to give up more to show their devotion, but it is not required.”

“Have you?” she grinned with an air of mischief.

He shifted nervously in his seat now, pulling at his collar. Had she really just asked him that? “Um, no, I have taken no such vows.” He could feel the heat rising in his ears and he knew his color must have changed. Heat was rising in _other_ , unmentionable areas as well. “Maker’s breath…can we speak of something else?”

She threw her head back, grabbing her stomach as she laughed. “You’re sweating. And blushing. And _that’s_ what you get for you and Cassandra ganging up on me!” Cullen rubbed his forehead, letting out a small sound of amusement at himself. He knew he was easily flustered when it came to such matters and it seemed she had figured it out for herself as well. Seeing her face lit so almost made it worth it. He glanced up appreciating the shine of her smile aimed at him.

“Lady Trevelyan, I have been looking all over for you,” Lady Montilyet called out in a controlled panic, weaving her way through soldiers who had finished their meals.

“Good morning Ambassador,” Laurel greeted cautiously. “You’re out very early today.”

“Your presence is required in my office. There is a… _gentleman_ here who asked for you by name,” she explained breathless.

Laurel squinted wrinkling her lips. “What’s this about?”

Josephine took a deep breath, releasing it quickly and avoiding eye contact. “I am not at liberty to discuss it. They did not wish their identity known.”

Laurel’s face dropped with her heart. She had a sneaking suspicion who awaited her. She knew this day would come, but she thought it would come in the form of a letter or a messenger. “It’s my father isn’t it?” She pressed her fingers to the patch of skin between her eyes as she bolstered herself for what was coming. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you write to my parents for their support. Just…tell the old clod to bugger off. Tell him I’m _currently_ occupied.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow, thoroughly confused and completely intrigued. This was her father she was talking about and he had never seen so much disdain cross the woman’s face before.  

“I do not think our position is so elevated that I can turn away a noble of his standing. He is a Bann, I’m afraid I must insist you speak with him,” Josephine explained firmly.

“Fine,” she growled. Laurel pressed her eyes closed, resolving herself to the situation. She raised herself from the table, swinging her legs over its bench. As she lifted Cullen caught her eyes, her look was strange, dreadful and almost pleading for help.    

* * *

 

Laurel paced past Josephine’s office. She must have passed it a dozen times before she finally stopped in front of its entrance, staring at the door. She took a few breaths as she gripped the handle trying to calm the tremors that ran through her arms. The door was strangely quiet as she pressed on it slowly.

Bann Francis Trevelyan looked up from his impatient pacing right away. “Laurel, you look well.” It really was him, her father. She stood blinking in shock, even though she knew what waited behind the door. He had grown a beard since she saw him last. She guessed to cover the sag of his aging face, or perhaps deter from his sunken grey eyes.  

Laurel’s eyes narrowed as she shrunk away from his open arms. “What are you doing here, Francis?”

“Still angry I see,” he said lowering his arms and tugging at his tunic to straighten it.

Her arms folded across her chest. “No, I stopped caring enough to be angry,” she declared calmly. “What I feel towards you is more like… a cool indifference. Why are you here?”

The Bann walked casually toward her, arms hung loosely at his sides. “You haven’t written us, you haven’t sent word that you even survived. We didn’t know you were alive until we received a letter requesting funds for this Inquisition of yours.”

“Money is the only use I have for you anymore,” she said dismissively. “You can give them my dowry.”

She watched him studying the room they stood in, he hadn’t even the decency to look her in the eye. “Your Aunts have already sent a donation. That has been taken care of.”

“Be sure to send my gratitude,” she chortled.

“What can I do to fix this?” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

“It’s too late for that,” she said firmly. “I don’t need to hear any more of your false apologies. I can’t believe I ever let you convince me you were sorry before.”

“I know things have been hard the last few years, but we can still…”

“Hard?” she interrupted. “Things have been hard? Even setting aside the situation where you murdered a man, things have not just ‘been hard’. After Gared died, you all acted like he never existed. You didn’t even attend his memorial. We didn’t even know where you were, you hid while the city nearly burned. I ran to save him and you ran to save yourself!”

He titled his head downward, pressing his fingers to his eyes before waving his hand in frustration. “I was in Markham, no one was willing to travel to a city under attack especially after what happened in Kirkwall.”

“So buy a horse, ride there yourself,” she reasoned. “How did you get _here_?”

“My caravan, of course,” he replied.

“Your caravan? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? By the Maker!” she scoffed shaking her head.

He let out a heavy sigh shifting his feet as his arms crossed. “This is not the meeting I hoped for.”

“I know what kind of meeting you hoped for,” she snarled. “You hoped that you could come in here, throw your weight around and find a way to use my status to your advantage. I’m through with this, I will not let you use me any longer. If I survive this, do not expect my return to Ostwick.”

His look changed. She could see the heat rising in his face and she watched his nostrils flare and his jaw tighten. She had struck a nerve. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he pled grasping her by the wrist.

“Let go!” she commanded. She jerked away, reclaiming her hand. “You have made your bed, now lie in it. I don’t want to see you again.”

“Listen to me,” he spat, raising his hand to strike with its back, “I will not be…”

The hinges of the door loudly screeched as it swung open and it boomed as it collided with the wall. Commander Cullen stood glowering in the frame, his hand still on the door as he breathed through a clenched jaw. His eyes tensed directly on Bann Trevelyan whose hand was still raised, Cullen’s look challenging the man to finish what he had started. “Lady Trevelyan, the soldiers await your presence,” he bellowed with enough force to make his order clear.  

Laurel lowered her hands from her face that she instinctively held in self-defense. She leaned backed against Josephine’s desk, griping its edges panting with her cheek turned. She turned to look at her father defiantly and pushed herself from the desk with a huff. She tugged on her leathers to smooth them, and ran her fingers through to straighten her hair as she fled from the room, too embarrassed to meet the Commander’s gaze.

Commander Cullen lowered his chin like a ram ready to strike with its horns, staring at the Bann with a predatory glaze over his eyes. Slowly he dropped his hands to his sides where they clenched into tight fists and he began advancing toward the Bann gradually. The longer he looked upon the man the harder his blood vessels pounded in his neck. He could see the Bann swallow in fear and back away. Suddenly the man was not so brave. “I think you’re done here Lord Trevelyan.”

Bann Trevelyan nodded nervously. Cullen’s eyes still bore into his skull, his eyes locked and following him until he exited the room. When the door closed Cullen let go of the breath he held, loosening his fists. He turned rushing from the room, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to calm himself. As he stepped into the sanctuary Lady Montilyet shuffled toward him, her eyes wide and mouth falling open. “Where is she?” Cullen breathed.

“I…I saw her go into the war room,” she stammered.

Cullen and Josephine cracked open the door, peeking cautiously inside. Against the left wall, Lady Trevelyan had sunk to the floor. Her shoulders hunched forward and her hands were locked behind her neck, her face buried in her thighs. She shook and her breaths were rapid. Josephine threw her clipboard to the ground, dropping to her knees beside Laurel. Laurel looked up and gasped as she felt the warmth of Josephine’s hand on her knee. “Is he gone?” she muttered still trying to catch her breath.

“I think our Commander saw to that,” Josephine answered nodding toward Cullen.  

Laurel looked to him nodding in thanks and he softly smiled back. She swallowed clenching her eyes together tightly. “Good,” she breathed leaning her head back against the stone wall looking toward the ceiling. She let out another breath in relief, then relaxed letting her arms fall limp to her sides and straightening out her folded legs. It was over.

Cullen swallowed hard watching her. “Are you alright?”

She moved her jaw to loosen it, it ached from tightness. “I think so. Thank you.” She raised her eyes and Cullen leaned over, offering a hand to pull her to her feet. She gripped his fingers and let him help her stand. He could feel her still shaking. Their eyes met and she could see the kindness shining through again. She looked back at him appreciatively and over to Josephine giving her a wide eyed nod. She blew out one more heavy breath, allowing her lips to curl into a weak smile.

“Lady Trevelyan, I hope you can forgive me,” Josephine quietly begged.

Laurel held her hands to her hips, lightly rocking from her heels to her toes and back again, stretching to relieve tension. “It’s not your fault. Let’s just…go on with our day shall we,” she said straightening her back and pressing her shoulders together to elicit a crack in her spine. “I think I need to hit something.”

Cullen allowed himself a small chuckled. “What a coincidence, so do I,” he grumbled. He held up his hand, motioning the ladies to exit the room first pulling the door shut behind them. Lady Montilyet returned to her office, tidying a few things that had fallen from the desk in the scuffle. As they walked past the office once more Laurel felt Cullen’s hand touch the small of her back for a moment encouraging her forward.

Purposefully they made their way through the camp to the sparring grounds. As they walked, he looked at her, still concerned. She was aware of his watchful eye and felt uneasy at his expression. “Stop looking at me like that,” she insisted.

“Like what?” he gulped turning his head forward.

“Like you feel sorry for me,” she objected.

He let out his breath, glancing over. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

She nodded slowly. “You followed me,” she said softly, looking at him through the side of her eyes pushing hair from her face. She wondered why he had been there, how much he had heard.

His lips parted as he wetted them. “I apologize if it was forward of me, you seemed…in need.”

Her brow furrowed. “No I…I’m glad someone was there. He’s never done this before.” Her eyes went blank. She couldn’t process what could have went through her father’s mind, what could have made him raise a hand at her. He had never been a good man in her eyes, but this...? She should have known. This was the same man who lied to her, manipulated her, and murdered a man she thought she cared for.

He paused and faced her just before they passed through the gates. “I will not allow it to happen again,” he asserted. “He is not welcome here.”

She nodded breathing out a content sigh. Her eyes dropped. “That is…a relief.”

They faced each other quietly for a moment and her gaze would not raise. He could see the shame on her face, the embarrassment over what had happened, the confusion. She couldn’t believe what he had seen, what he had stopped. He watched her eyes darting, blinking as she silently contemplated. They were filled with hurt, but also a spark of defiance he knew she would use to her advantage. He despised the man who had done this to her. He wanted nothing more than to punish him in some way, but that was not the way the world worked. He had stopped him and for now that was enough.

He had to break his eyes from her to keep himself sane, to keep his heart from leaping from his chest. Why was she doing this to him? Making him feel like this, no one had had this effect on him before. It was infuriating. After what he had been through at Kinloch Hold, he had always been able to maintain a distance easily. Though he was glad he was there to stop what was happening in that room, he knew he had overstepped by following her. He could allow nothing to get in the way and cause his judgment to become clouded, he had to be able to make any decision without hesitation. Duty had to come first. If he cared for this woman, how could he send her into danger? Why was he allowing this to happen? It could not happen, not ever. Today would have to be the end of it, he needed to find a way to end this infatuation here and now. He would have to fight it, just the way he was fighting the lyrium. For both their sakes.


	15. Chapter 15

Cullen stood in Josephine’s office, summoned by a loud knock at his door waking him from a dead slumber. He was still disgruntled to say the least and still coming down from the panic. He was a military commander, he awoke thinking the worst. They should have known he would. One does not usually wake to such confusion, but nothing was usual anymore. “She’s gone?”

Josephine sat at her desk, cool and composed as always. How did she always stay so controlled?  “Yes Commander, Lady Trevelyan insisted one last trip to the Crossroads was necessary,” Josephine answered. “The mages were returning with stories of hardships and she felt it would be beneficial to oversee some of the operations herself. Truthfully… I think after what happened, she may have needed to get away from Haven for a little while.”

What was she thinking, taking off this close to their attack? What if she was injured? The Inquisition could not afford error at this late stage. “Did she at least take someone with her?”

Josephine nodded. “She took a small party. Cassandra is among them.”

Well that was at least a small relief. Cassandra was usually a voice of reason. “Did she say how long she would be gone? We mount the attack in only a few weeks’ time.”

“They took supplies enough to last at least a week, perhaps two. We may not expect her back for some time.”

“This is ridiculous! I don’t like cutting it this close,” he grumbled.  She was supposed to be here, training with his troops, under his watchful eye. Not out there doing Maker knew what.

Josephine still sat unflinching, unaffected by his tone and his complaining, and his obvious agitation. “Cassandra did leave instructions to notify her of any changes in the Breach, they are prepared to leave at a moment’s notice if necessary.”

Blast the woman. She didn’t have to do this to him, to the Inquisition. “And how many lives will be lost while we sit around and wait for her triumphant return? Did she take that _mage_ with her?”

Josephine flinched, confused at the comment. She thought the Commander had gotten over his disdain for mages. “Yes, I do believe she took a mage. Dorian went, if that is who you are referring to. Please do try to be understanding Commander. Yesterday was…unpleasant for her.”

Of course he was with her, likely trying to sink his teeth into her. And so that was it, she could likely be gone until the attack. And then she might be gone forever. Cullen shook his head. He thought there would be more time. He wasn’t sure if he was hurt or if he was relieved. He try to fool himself into believing his only concern was for the Inquisition and not for himself. “I’ll be understanding once this cursed breach is gone,” he shouted, roughly closing Josephine’s office door behind him.  

 

* * *

 

Laurel threw down the last of the crates she carried. She and her companions had finally finished gathering the last of the loot from the mages’ abandoned caches. Another day’s work was done. Whittle would be thrilled to be able to distribute some of these things to the refugees, especially the blankets and furs they found among the supplies. It should have felt good to have another task behind them, another piece of the mess at the Crossroad’s restored, but it only meant less distraction. Just one less thing to focus on instead of what was going on inside of her head, the brutal storm brewing under the surface eating away inside. Less to do meant more time to think, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was think.

To think of what had happened a few days ago with her father brought her close to physical pain. If she wasn’t careful it could consume her, bring her back to a place she didn’t want to be anymore. She meant what she had said to her father, she wasn’t angry anymore. She didn’t want to be and the best way was to pretend not to care. If she thought too hard, if anything reminded her of it she could feel an instant sinking pull on her gut, and pressure like hands crushing her skull. It hurt as much physically as it did on the inside. As much as she didn’t want to look back, as much as she wanted to say goodbye, he would always be her father wouldn’t he? She’d always be connected to him, always hear his name, probably die with his name attached to her. At her last rites they’d speak of her as the Herald of Andraste, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, maybe never even say her name.

She sighed, bringing a hand to wipe her brow. Despite the chill that had set in as winter approached, she was perspiring from the heavy lifting involved in their current task. It felt good to move and break a sweat. She sat on the crate’s top waiting for the others to catch up, shaking her legs with impatience. They always seemed to straggle just a little bit behind. She always felt like she was leading them just because of her fast stride even though she had never really been officially established as the group’s leader. She had been calling all the shots the last few days or maybe even longer, it seemed she unintentionally assumed the role and the others fell in behind. She leaned back on her elbows, closing her eyes for a moment and listening to her heavy breaths. She inhaled slowly trying to catch her breath.

After a moment her breathing calmed, but her heart would not slow. It hadn’t really stopped pounding for ages. It was always in some state of upheaval it seemed. There was a constant sense of dread driving it to speed in her chest. If it ever rested something would bring it racing again, whether it was her father riling her or sometimes more pleasant occurrences like feeling the eyes of a certain man watching her and the hopefulness of wondering what it could mean. Mostly it raced when she looked to the sky and saw the Breach, thinking about the enormousness of the task ahead of her soon. The last time she had tried to close the Breach it nearly killed her. She knew that it and its anchor may very well take her with it. The plan of attack was worrisome, pouring more magic into something they barely understood. The magic would likely run through her body and she knew from discussions with the Inquisition’s advisors that they could not predict what that would do to her. It was a risk she was willing to take at this point, she needed to end this Breach whatever the cost. Her father did not see her worth beyond her birthright or perhaps how she could serve him and in turn the Chantry. She would prove to him she was worth more. And prove to herself that she was not like him, he was full of hate and a hunger for power beyond what he already held. That’s why she had to do this now, to help these people and to do her duty to serve the greater good. Something Gared would have done. Something everyone else around her was doing.

Laurel sat up quickly, startled by the sound of a crate hitting the ground near her. Dorian threw down the load he carried and lifted a fur from inside very delicately, being careful not to touch it with more than the tips of his fingers. “Laurel, what are these awful things supposed to be?” he asked, turning up his nose.

Laurel tilted her head with a raised brow. Was this a trick question? “They’re blankets.”

“They stink. They smell like a mixture of wet dog and horse shit,” he complained.

Laurel giggled. “They’re bear pelts Dorian, they’ll keep people warm. They won’t care what they smell like.”

“Yes, well I suppose these Fereldans are probably used to the stench,” he shrugged. “Everything here smells like some variation of feces, mixed with manged dog or rotted fish.”

Sera came from behind, throwing a sack on the pile of crates. She sneered and buckled her face. “Smells better than you magey, you just reek of alcohol. Been tryin to figure out how you keep from burstin into flames when you shoot those fireballs out your arse.”

Dorian sighed. “For the last time Sera, I don’t do it on purpose. That only happens when I fart.”

“Which is all the time!” Cassandra scowled, throwing down her own load from the cache.

“It’s this Fereldan food. It makes my little tum-tum hurt,” Dorian pouted. “I’d kill for a nice juicy Tevinter sausage.”

“I’ll bet you would,” Laurel grinned raising her brow. The comment elicited a cackle from Sera, an amused giggled from Dorian and all Cassandra had to offer was a disgusted noise.

Walking out of the cave, Laurel stopped to nod to Whittle receiving a thankful gesture in return. She passed through the crossing, going over a little bridge leading to the other side of the makeshift village. Passing over it she overheard two refugees leaned on the fence post waiting for a turn with the healer. They were exchanging stories of how they ended up at the Crossroads. Listening she realized their story was common among many of the people here. Driven out of their homes and lands by rogue Templars. More people were traveling to the Crossroads from their nearby farmholds to seek refuge. The fighting was at a calm in this region of the Hinterlands, but in other areas the story was different. On the outskirts where most people lived and worked their lands the rogue Templars were still attacking with no provocation or propensity. If it moved and it wasn’t one of them, they took it down. Her group had experienced some of their hostility themselves on their trek around the Hinterlands. Laurel was starting to grow more concerned. At first the attacks seemed random and led by only small groups, but now it looked as though they were becoming organized and they had probably set up a base camp by now. With their alliance with the mage’s secured, the renegade Templars were the next biggest threat in the region. She would have to speak to Corporal Vale about this.

Cassandra sighed as she left the supply holdings, making her way to cross over the bridge she had sworn the Herald had just been standing on. She had lost sight of the Herald once more, she must have taken off for what seemed like the hundredth time. Since the start of this surprise trip to the Hinterlands the woman did not know how to sit still for even a moment. If one mission was finished she was off looking for another. Cassandra knew letting the Herald out of her sight meant she was likely off looking for that next new bit of trouble to get into.

Cassandra spotted Laurel, eyeing her scaling the hill toward the upper camp where Corporal Vale and the rest of the Inquisition’s soldiers had set up a camp. It was obvious she was up to something, looking for another distraction. Commander Cullen had shared with Cassandra what he had witnessed and put to a stop. She knew exactly why Laurel was doing everything in her power to keep her focus on something else other than her troubles. What she was doing was good for the Inquisition and the people under its protection, but it could also lead to more trouble and danger Cassandra was not willing to risk. Sealing the breach was still the number one priority.

Cassandra followed, grunting as she climbed the steep hill in her armor. There were roads of course, but Lady Trevelyan was always too hurried to take them, preferring climbing mountainsides and scaling steep hills. She could not take a path to save her life, straight up the hills she went, pulling at rocks and roots and propelling herself up to the top of the hill. Lady Trevelyan could never bother herself with such silly things as taking a precious few seconds to find a safer way to whatever destination she had in mind.

Cassandra cursed her as she tried to keep up. The Herald had already cracked a bone in her foot once with her antics, but a quick healing spell and she was right back at it. Even after all the times she had fallen and had Dorian waste mana on healing her sorry ass…and foot…and leg…and foot again. It was exhausting trying to follow her or catch up going the long way around. The woman was a mess, but she was at least a useful and determined mess and Cassandra believed she was their salvation. That belief kept her nothing if not loyal. So Cassandra kept following her, kept going along with whatever idea popped into that pretty little head of hers, no matter how much it made her want to squeeze it open.

When Cassandra reached the top, Laurel was already speaking with Vale. She had that look in her eye. The last few days the Herald had become very resolute, much more than before. Cassandra knew she was already decided on their next task by her face and how adamantly she was questioning Vale. Cassandra pressed on her eyes and sighed, only imaging what next quest the Herald had in store for them. They had done much in only a few days.

At first the tasks started off small. They had gathered herbs and made some poultices for the healer, which Lady Trevelyan was very good at. She had made a few concoctions even the healer had never seen. Apparently it was a hobby of hers to experiment, Cassandra just wondered who she had done this experimenting on. They had also spent a day hunting wild game, mostly ram, to feed the refugees that had gathered at the Crossroads. Also along the way she determined she would attempt to find and seal every rift that had been reported in the surrounding area, a large task to undertake but they were making progress. At least she was putting her few days of training with the Commander to good use, she already had a noticeably better handle of her weapons. And she was becoming quite proficient at sealing these rifts, hopefully strengthening the power of the mark. It seemed it was becoming second nature for her to flick her wrist, open her palm and send the demons flying back to where they came from. She of course included all of this in her reports even if Lady Trevelyan wished to be humble about her accomplishments.

Cassandra leaned on her knees catching her breath for a moment and no sooner had she stood and Lady Trevelyan had turned heel, already headed down the hillside once more.

Laurel passed Cassandra and waved a hand motioning her to follow back down the hill. She trotted down easily, swinging her arms for balance. “We have to find their camp,” she said, her jaw set and eyes narrowed on the vision of her target.

Cassandra grunted, lifting her eyes to the sky. “Whose camp?”

“The rogue Templars of course,” Laurel proclaimed as if this were a given conclusion Cassandra should have come to.

“What?” Cassandra shrilled.

She looked back, frowning. “Please try to keep up Seeker. We’re going to find their camp. Vale gave us a few possible locations and he’s sending a small squad of his troops with us to try to drive them out.”

Cassandra crossed her arms, giving Laurel a confounded look. She couldn’t possibly really be doing this. “Please tell me you’re joking.”  

“Does that seem like an appropriate joke to make?” Laurel said throwing her hands up. “At a time like this? I’m completely serious. These Templars are killing people, people we swore to protect. We have to get rid of them. Is that a problem?”

Cassandra couldn’t move any further, frozen as she tried to make sense of her reasoning. “Doesn’t that seem dangerous?”

Laurel already covered the distance back to road and waited at the bottom of the hill for Cassandra to descend. She turned and shouted loud enough for Cassandra to hear her over the gap. “For the Templars maybe,” she said letting out a cocky laugh.

Maybe she had a point. These Templars did deserve a reckoning and Cassandra knew she could certainly handle them if the Herald could not. Cassandra climbed down once more, losing her breath along the way, chuckling at the Herald. “Where has _this_ determination come from? Why has it not been there all along?”

Lady Trevelyan gave up the wait and turned trotting down the incline of the road. Cassandra watch her from behind as she lifted her arms in a yielding gesture, opening her hands to the sky. “I’ve finally listened to you Cassandra. This is my life now, I’m the _bloody_ Herald of Andraste!” she called as if announcing her proclamation to the world. “I may as well be of some use before I go out in my final blaze of glory!”

* * *

 

Leliana leaned over, her elbows on one of the many crates stacked around her. She had started off standing to keep herself alert, but had given way to the exhaustion about to take her. At least the cold was keeping her from becoming too drifty. Haven was a sacred place, but that did not mean its weather was pleasant. It had only grown colder since the events at the Conclave, winter approached without hesitation and without any concern of what the Inquisition had planned. She barely raised her eyes as another report reached her hands from the most recently returned scout. More information to sift through from the already mounting pile. She had burned her candles to stubs the night before trying to make sense of it all. Tonight she would be at it again, praying for the Maker’s strength and wisdom to pull her through. She couldn’t let any piece of information slip from her grasp. Most of the reports were useless, simple day to day musings from scouts. Most of whom had no idea know how to keep material that wasn’t relevant off of their reports. The particular shade of green of the leaves of an oak tree was not something that could be of any use to her.

Finally her eyes glanced toward the most recent report, her attention immediately fixed on the signature at the bottom. A report from Cassandra had finally arrived, the first in more than a week. She perked up, reading over the words of the report quickly. The people of the Hinterlands were taken care of, that was good. Most rifts in the region had been closed with minimal difficulty, even better. And, _what’s this_ , she thought. The group had somehow managed to drive out the last of the rogue Templars. This was wonderful news. The party would heal their injuries and return Haven within a day of the report’s arrival. Immediately Leliana crouched to the cages sat on the ground, releasing a raven. The areas surrounding the Hinterlands would have to be scouted for any sign of the Templars, according the report some had fled and they must find the direction these Templars were traveling. According to the Herald’s account of the future they were working with this Elder One, and they could lead them straight to him.

Quickly she gathered her reports, signaling the messenger to gather the advisors for War Council. Josephine and the Commander would have to be notified at once. The Commander had been sulking since the party had left without his approval, and hopefully this would improve his mood.

* * *

 

 

Waking up was always the hardest part of the day. Cullen stirred, jolting himself from sleep. Another bad dream, just like every other morning. Each night he went to bed dreading the night. Wondering if the night would be filled with just a few nightmares or so many that he would give up sleeping for the night altogether. He dreaded the morning as well. If he had a good day, there was no way to predict if the morning would bring weakness and a new ache in his head or worse a new thirst for just a little taste of the strange blue fiend that fueled his life for so many years. What would it be like to feel it run through his veins again?  Would he feel strong again or just hate himself for giving in?

This morning he woke with a heavy chest. He knew Lady Trevelyan would be back today and the anticipation had been killing him. He didn’t want to feel this blasted way, but dammit he did. Her departure only made him realize it more. He thought he could convince himself otherwise, but it was no use. His infatuation was beyond his control. He had been in a state since she left. It felt different when she wasn’t here, when he couldn’t even look upon her from a distance. Even that would have been enough, just to see that she was alright. Every night she appeared in his dreams now, always being torn away or hurt in some manner. What made it even worse is that he knew what would come when they finally mounted their assault and that these nightmares could easily become reality. He’d have to watch another person he cared for walk into danger and prepare for the worst outcome.    


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eve of the assault

The air in the Chantry was strange, eerily quiet. The calm around Laurel was a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside. She stared into the flames of the candles that burned before the altar of Andraste. Her breaths were quiet, but inside her chest her heart was raging, pounding, thudding in her ears. She could feel every beat as an explosion. She closed her eyes, focusing on the words of the Chanter.

_For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water._

_As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,_

_She should see fire and go towards Light._

_The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,_

_And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker_

_Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._

‘She will know no fear of death.’ But Laurel did fear death, even if she did trust in the Maker, Even if she had accepted the possibility that tomorrow could be the end. The Inquisition was ready and they had come upon the eve of their attack. It was a late hour, but many were gathered in the Chantry. They prayed for strength, for the success of tomorrow, some for the salvation of their souls were they lost.

“Herald,” a voice whispered in greeting.

A man stood to her right, slightly back. Her lips parted and she politely nodded. “Commander.” 

Commander Cullen had come to pray too. As a Templar he had likely been very devout, it wasn’t a surprise to see him here. There hadn’t been time for them to speak for many days. Somehow she felt the distance was deliberate. The day she came back to Haven had been strange. The last time she had seen him he was chasing away her father. They had sparred later that day and she thought they had parted amicably. He was not his usual self since she returned, but she did barely know him. Who was she to say how he was to act? He owed her nothing just because they had a few flirtations. She had flirted with plenty of men in her life and it never meant anything. That is what she told herself.

He wasn’t sure why he had gained her attention. Like the others, he had come to pray. It was only fitting that she was here, deepening his torture. She looked solemn and frightened. Tomorrow was uncertain for her. She would be in his prayers tonight. He would ask that Andraste watch over her in the hours and the day to come. If this woman was truly her Herald would Andraste reclaim her once her work was done?

Laurel’s gaze lingered for a moment at her shoulder. She and Cullen looked at each other for a moment before they both bowed their heads, continuing their prayers. When he raised his head again she was gone.

Laurel pulled her coat tighter, rubbing her shoulders at the chill that had firmly set itself upon Haven. Under her feet the snow sank and gritted into the rock and dirt. It was just after dusk. Dark had overtaken the encampment and still the same eerie quiet and calm sat in the air. If the air had not caused her to shiver, the silence would have.

“Off so soon?” Dorian called from behind. He had emerged from the Chantry as well.

Laurel stopped, looking back at the voice that followed her. “You were in the Chantry?” she frowned, confused.

“Is it so hard to believe I’m Andrastian?” he said.

Laurel shrugged. “I just thought your people had different beliefs, that’s all.”

“If I die tomorrow, I don’t think the Maker will care which Chantry I prayed in,” Dorian reasoned.

“You have a point,” she said nodding.

Dorian sighed watching her. He had in fact done quite a lot of watching her since they had met. There was always something under the surface with her. A secret sadness or secret desire. She like to keep her feelings locked up tight, but luckily for her, he was very good at reading people.  “Laurel, I know I haven’t known you for very long, but I think we’ve become close in that short time haven’t we?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “It makes me glad to hear you say that Dorian.”

“And you know about my…situation.”

She raised a brow. “Which situation are you referring to?”

“I think you know the one,” he chuckled. “In Tevinter my lifestyle is _discouraged_. It’s all fine behind closed doors as long as you marry the right girl, but my point is I had to learn to be able to read subtle cues to figure out who might be a… willing participant, if you will. I’m very good at reading between the lines.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” she said blinking.

“He cares for you,” he said bluntly. “…and I think you might feel something back.”

She shook her head pinching her brows in confusion. “What are you on about?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Laurel,” he sassed. “We both know better than that. I see him watch you, I see your stolen glances. When he’s in the room, your eyes instantly change even if you don’t look at him.”

Her face unwrinkled, relaxed but drawn inward at the realization. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured.

“Oh right, I forgot. He’s the Commander. You’re the Herald. Who cares, we all might die tomorrow! And you’re going to leave all this shit unsaid.”

She sighed with eyes dropped to the ground. “Duty comes first. None of us can afford distraction tomorrow.”

“I’d kill for a distraction. That’s why you will find me drowning my sorrows in a bottle of wine tonight. Not that that surprises you any.”

“Just make sure you’re ready in the morning,” she glared slightly disapproving. At least he knew how to handle his liquor.

* * *

 

Two guards saluted her as she passed through the gates leading outside the walls of Haven. Still more quiet filling her ears, but at least here it seemed natural. It was emptier than she had ever seen, usually swords were swinging through the air, and soldiers were running about, people were traveling in and out of the gate, but now if you turned your back to the encampment it just seemed like open wilderness. The moon was bright tonight, illuminating everything blue. Even her breath was tinted the color as it came from her nose. You could see everything in the distance. The mountains reflected blue from their snow covered tops, with little flecks that were trees moving on its surface as they swayed blown by the wind. If you only glanced you could swear they were men walking toward you but they never grew closer. She could see the light shining black and blue off the frozen surface of the lake that sat at the front Haven, shimmering like a precious stone or metal. It was beautiful and she hoped it would all be here tomorrow, whole and untouched.

She didn’t want to look at what else lingered in the wild sky, but she couldn’t keep her eyes away. The Breach, the giant hole in the sky glowering green over Haven, coloring the clouds around it with the same sickening color that sprang from her palm. Tomorrow, if they were successful in powering the anchor it would be gone. An ending that would be bittersweet. Her task would be done and if she survived, she wondered where that would leave her. Likely not so important to the Inquisition anymore.

Behind her the massive doors clunked open and she could see someone else walk through the gates. She recognized the broad figure by the outlines of the fur at his shoulders and the way he swung his arms. Commander Cullen spotted her of course, she was the only one standing out in the cold. When he saw her, he was hesitant. On this night of all nights he wanted nothing else but to go to her, no matter how much he shouldn’t. He watched Trevelyan turn and make her way up the bank headed in his direction. He wondered if she would just pass by him as they had been doing for days, keeping a calculated distance from one another since her return. He knew she must have as much weighing on her mind as he did. They had prepared for weeks to finally be able to seal the Breach once and for all. They couldn’t predict what would happen. A million scenarios ran through his mind, he tried to come up with every strategy he could to counter anything that might happen. The constant in it all was her and every possibility put her in danger. The prospect stab at his gut.

“You’re out late,” she remarked. She didn’t pass him by after all. He counted himself lucky.

“I ah…trebuchet calibrations,” he said rubbing his neck, trying not to let his cheeks flush. “I thought I’d check on them one more time.”

She chuckled. She had exchanged glances many times with the other advisors in the war room when Cullen began going on almost obsessively about the damn trebuchets. “Of course,” she said with a lit grin.

An awkward silence fell between them for a moment. She bit her lip, hoping he would say something. “I take it you’re ready for tomorrow?” he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “As ready as I’ll ever be….I think.”

“I know we will succeed. We have to,” he said firmly.

She titled her head down, crossing her arms. “If I told you I was less confident in our success would you start barking at me again?” she teased.

“Perhaps. But self-doubt is only natural on the eve of battle,” he offered. One thing had been eating away at his mind. “I wondered…when we do manage to end the threat of the breach, will you stay with the Inquisition? I know you said you wouldn’t be returning to Ostwick and we could still use you.”

Her lips parted and her look went blank. “I’m not counting on having to make that choice.”

She thought the anchor would kill her, didn’t she? The fact that she was willing to give up made his lips curl in anger. “Don’t speak of such things,” he sneered.

“I’m just being realistic,” she protested.

“You’re being foreboding. We have no way of knowing what will happen tomorrow. I will not have you assuming the worst of your fate,” he roared.  

“Why in the void do you care?” she hissed. He was taken aback, but remained silent. Several moments passed without words exchanged. He wasn't about to say what he had been feeling, not on the eve of the attack, now was not the time if a time ever came. It likely would not. She shook her head, almost in disgust. “That’s what I thought. As long as I seal the Breach first, right?” She would take no more, she stomped away.

“Herald, you know that’s not…wait!” he pled.

She turned around clenching her fists. “That’s _not_ my name,” she spat.

“Lady Trevelyan, please!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. There was only one more thing she could have wanted to hear. “Laurel,” he blurted.

She stopped at the sound of her name. The name she had longed to hear from him since they had met. He grabbed her by the arm and she allowed him to turn her around. They stood facing each other, breaths heavy on the air filling the space between them. Cullen locked his gaze taking another step forward. She was wide eyed and dazed, unsure. He had no idea what he was doing, what had overcome him. What drove him at this moment was not Cullen the Commander, the disciplined Templar, always keeping his distance, always staying detached. He felt a lion leaping from inside, and it pounced overtaking its prey. He grabbed her by the back of the head, diving into her lips with his own. She didn’t stop him. Laurel gasped and grabbed him by the collar pulling him closer, letting her inhibitions fade for a moment. The warmth of his mouth in contrast to the cold that surrounded them made every part of her vibrate. His lips were not rough like the rest of him, they were soft and sweet. Her lips felt exactly as he had imagined, warm and wet and unlike anything he had ever tasted. And as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

She pulled away, pushing back from him to create a distance. She brought he fingers to her mouth and shook her head with a pained look crossing her brow. Her eyes fluttered to his as he stood wide eyed and blinking, waiting for an unpredictable reaction. “I can’t,” she finally said in a whimper. She threw her arms around herself, turning to run to the gates. She reached them and beat on the doors loudly for entrance. The sounds of the gate opening briefly and then closing echoed off the mountains.  

Cullen could not even bring himself to watch her go, too ashamed of what he had just done. He paced with his hands behind his neck and bent to the ground wondering what in the Void he had just done. He cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? He had been rejected and he deserved it. Did he think just because of what tomorrow could bring that he could do as he pleased? He practically attacked the Herald. He stood up and lifted his chin to the sky, taking a deep breath to calm himself, distract himself somehow. He had come out here for a reason before he saw her, but what was it? The trebuchets. Yes, that was it. He headed toward the first trebuchet, walking with his hand at the back of neck and kicking at the snow and gravel in frustration along the way. He wondered how he would ever be able look her in the eye again.


	17. Sealing the Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today was the day. The sealing of the Breach.

It was early when Laurel woke of course. Perhaps waking was not the right word, it was more like she had finally given up on sleeping. A few voices could already be heard outside, a mixture of stern directions and nervous laughs. Today would not be like yesterday, there would be no quiet or calm. She couldn’t help but feel the intense sense of impending doom. After these weeks, these two months, they had finally come to what they were moving toward. She shook already, leaning on her knees before her trunk pulling from it her armor, her sword and her shield.

She stood and stepped into her leather trousers, sighing heavily. She shook her head and silently laughed at herself as she pulled her arms through the gambeson she would wear under her armor. It had to have been the hundredth time she had sighed so forcefully that morning. She stood tall and rolled her neck side to side. She would try as many tactics as it took to try to relax herself. She hated feeling so nervous. It wasn’t just the battle, before even that she would have to face Cullen again. 

It was hard enough to think clearly, but then….then he had his little momentary lapse in judgment last night. It was unwelcome, but perhaps not unwanted. Certainly not unliked. She could at least admit to herself that she liked it, that it made her leap inside, that his lips felt so deliciously perfect against hers. It was just the wrong time, and she was the wrong person for any man to show an affection for. She wondered if the mistake had been his or hers. She wanted it, she would admit she did. And she kissed him back, but then…she ran. For a million reasons she ran and none of them were his fault. She hoped he knew that.

She crouched and fastened the last buckle of her boot and rose at a boisterous banging on her cabin door. Being already on edge the sudden sound was not appreciated. Annoyed she swung the door open with force and made sure her face conveyed her displeasure. “What is it?” she growled.

A tall dark skinned man stood at her door, his face was tight and showed no emotion. “Herald, pardon the intrusion. You are to come with me.”

She peered around the man to see if others were with him, but he was alone. She titled her head and gave the man a deeply confounded look. She had never seen this man before in her life. “And you are?”

“Ah, Leftenant Brycen m’lady,” he replied. He was obviously a soldier, the way he stood gave him away. His back was straight, his feet shoulder width apart and his hands were at his back, gripped behind him while his chin titled up and clenched tight. “I was Knight Commander at Hasmal, but now I serve the Inquisition. I have these instructions for you and you are to come with me at once to the temple ruins where we will go over our battle strategy and make our final preparations. You will be under my command today, Herald.”

His command? So this was Cullen’s strategy. To shut her out completely and try his best to never have to speak to her again. This she would not have. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “An introduction may well have been a place to start Leftenant, but I’m sorry. You’ll have to go without me.”

The man looked shocked. Like he had never had an order disobeyed in the whole of his life. “My orders are from Commander Cullen himself, he sent me directly.”

“I don’t _care_ who sent you! I have been under his immediate command only and that will not change hours before the onset of the battle. You tell Commander Cullen if he wishes me to follow any orders today that he will issue them himself and he will face me like a man!” She watched the man’s eyes widen as the door flew towards his face and slammed shut.

 Of all the times she had been angry in her life, this had to be in the top few. She threw her fist into the door with a scream and immediately regretted the decision as pain cracked through her bones eliciting a curse from her lips. She flicked her wrist, breathing in through her teeth to ease away the pain. She held out her hand and moved it to assess the damage. It wasn’t broken, only the skin at her knuckles had received any damage.

She threw on her armor in a rage, quickly tightening her sword harness at her waist and storming through her cabin’s entrance. She clenched her jaw, stomping through the snow, bypassing any walking paths leading to the Chantry and instead taking the straightest course around and through buildings.

When she reached the Chantry she stopped, noticing it had been rearranged. It looked more like a storage closet than a place of worship. Pews were pushed against the walls to make room for stacks of crates and barrels and sacks full of supplies. And at the end of the room Commander Cullen and his Leftenant stood. Hopefully her message had been delivered.

“What is this about?” she said throwing the parchment she had earlier been handed at her door. Cullen caught it at his chest and shot a look at the man standing at his side that told him he should leave at once if he knew what was good for him.

“I ah…,” he cleared his throat. “I thought you might prefer it, after…” he said trailing off.

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “May I speak with you privately?” she insisted.

He sighed and looked away, bringing his hand to the back of his neck. “Of course,” he said motioning her toward the back.

To the side near her office, Josephine and Leliana leaned over the ambassador’s clipboard, discussing some small detail she had written out about the day. Leliana was pointing at something when she looked up and raised a brow at Cullen and then the Herald. She could tell by Cullen’s desperate look and the shake of his head that this was something she wanted no part of.

He opened the door of the war room, standing aside to let her enter first, still not meeting her eyes. When the door closed both remained silent for a few moments. He stood at his usual place at the war table across from the Herald with his hands gripping at the hilt of his sword. Laurel leaned against the wall with her both her arms folded and her legs crossed at her ankles. Looking down at the floor she began after taking a deep breath. “Listen Cullen, I don’t care what happened,” she said calmly. “We have a job to do. I’m not angry about last night… and I hope that you aren’t either.”

He exhaled deeply through his nose and when he spoke his voice was raspy. “I have no right to be angry.” Slowly he was able to meet her gaze.

Laurel stood and swallowed, moving to continue. As she spoke her eyes shifted, unsure where to look. Her eyes met his but looked away quickly when it became uncomfortable. “We’re both adults,” she said adopting her military stance, placing her hands behind her back and jutting out her jaw. The posture gained her some comfort and a sense of control. “I won’t deny that there is some… _attraction_ there, but… I think it best for us to remain detached. For both our sakes.”

“I assure you I am in agreement,” he said firmly. Almost too firmly. “I…I don’t know what came over me. My behavior was unbefitting of my rank and completely outside my character. Please accept my apology.”

Her lips parted at his words, they almost stung a little. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said turning up her nose and tugging at the part of her gambeson that stuck out at the sides and smoothing it. She wetted her lips and rubbed them together. “Can we both just forget what happened and move on?”

“Of course,” he said with a tone reminiscent of his command voice. “We have a very large task ahead of us today. It will require focus that we cannot afford to be broken.”

“Good. Thank you,” she said coldly with a slight title of her head. She moved to grip the door handle and paused. “If I make it out of this, I do hope we can be friends.”

“As do I,” he nodded.

* * *

 

“Everyone knows their positions.” They were at the temple ruins now, Cullen giving one last briefing before everyone moved to their targeted areas. Cassandra and Solas stood at Lady Trevelyan’s side and a large group had gathered around as well.

“The Mages will be at the top, focusing their will into the anchor. The Templars will be further up, drawing magic from the Breach and also watching for signs that the mages may have been compromised. Ensuring none have turned to abominations,” he looked at Enchanter Fiona as he spoke the sentence and received a nod of understanding. If any mage was possessed, she knew what had to be done.

He continued. “The soldiers will be on the ground surrounding the breach, ready to attack anything that comes out when the Herald re-opens it. We will also have archers further back. They will focus the majority of their firepower in front of the Herald to ensure she is not attacked in the process of closing the Breach. Cassandra and Solas will be on the ground with the Herald. Once you are down there Herald, you will receive your instructions from Solas,” he said looking to Lady Trevelyan. She nodded. Solas knew more about this anchor than anyone else. No one was better suited to aid in its use.

“I’ve stationed the Iron Bull and his Chargers outside the Temple entrance as a last line of defense should anything escape. The others know where they are supposed to be.” He looked around at the faces in the crowd, assessing whether everyone had a complete understanding and agreement of how everything was going to work. He raised his eyebrows at the crowd. “Understood?”

The group let out their various sounds of hua’s, grunts, and cheers affirming that they were ready and willing. Trevelyan grinned as her heart filled with the long forgotten but familiar feeling of comradery and common purpose. Her nervousness was gone, replaced by pure adrenaline. She was ready to face what came forth from the breach and end this once and for all.

She made her way to the bottom of the ruin where Cassandra and Solas stood at her side. Around her from above the mages gathered, only the most powerful and least likely to succumb to corruption were selected to aid in the assault. The Herald could already feel the anchor burning in her hand and see it glowing brighter with each step toward the breach. It buzzed up her forearm making her bones ache up to her shoulder. “On my mark,” she could hear Commander Cullen say as he pulled his lionhead helm into position. She looked to him, seeing the sheer focus on his brow through its opening. His eyes were dark and hard. She nodded, indicating she was ready at his Command. “Archers ready your bows,” he bellowed. “Mages ready your staves. Infantrymen, ready your blades and by the Maker, kill any creature that comes out of that thing.”

Solas turned to mages, instructing them to focus past the mark and allow their will to be drawn. As he waved his hand the mages pounded their staves to the ground and began to draw their will from the veil. Commander Cullen swung his sword in the air and roared. “For the Inquisition!” And at that, she opened her palm to the sky re-opening the tear in the veil. The ground shook when the breach opened, but nothing came from the tear.

Quickly she moved to close the Breach, jolts of what felt like electric fire searing through her body. First up her arm, then into her chest and down her spine to the rest of her. The magic pouring through her nearly lifted her from the ground. Her entire being felt as though it may rip to shreds at any moment. The pain was excruciating and only confirmed her suspicions that this would end her, her body could not handle the power but knowing the end was coming only made her push harder. A deafening sound wracked her ears and a shock wave sent anyone near soaring back and her pounding into the ground. She crouched, curled into a ball as more pain assaulted her body. She couldn’t will herself to move, and she wondered if it was because her soul had left her body. Perhaps she no longer had a body to move. There was no sound save for a small ringing in her ears that slowly increased, then turned to muffled voices. She opened her eyes and saw the ground and then felt hands pulling at her. She was alive.

Though her breaths were labored, she managed to let out sounds of elation. Somehow she had survived. She attempted to stand, thought her feet were unsteady. She leaned bent over, placing her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. She rose with her hands at her forehead showing her shock. She laughed with giddiness and surprise, still disbelieving she had made it. She felt arms thrown around her and could make out Cassandra’s voice. More shock hit as she realized it was the Seeker who embraced her. She wasn’t sure before that moment Cassandra knew what affection was.

 She grinned at the Seeker. “Why are you squeezing me with your body?” Laurel teased.

The Seeker was able to give her a dirty look, even through her smile. “It’s a hug. I’m hugging you.”

“I didn’t know you had it in you Cassandra,” she laughed.

Cassandra wrinkled her lips. “Don’t look so smug, it’s unseemly.”

Solas approached at a jog, grinning and offering an excited pat and shoulder squeeze. They had done it, somehow they had done it. It was over. And she had lived. It had went better than anyone could have ever predicted. The ease of it was almost unnerving. Suddenly Laurel felt a sickening in her gut. Something was not right, it shouldn’t have been this easy and without incident. Not a single enemy had sprung forth from the Breach. Where were the demons?   


	18. Let the storm rage on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The breech is closed, but it isn't over.

“What is it?” Cassandra questioned. The Herald looked uneasy. She wasn’t happy like everyone else. The elation and the relief was gone. It had faded quickly at the temple ruins.

Everyone had made their way to the front of the Chantry by now. People were celebrating and most were breathing a sigh of relief, but Laurel stood cautiously and looked to the distance with a look of distress. She gripped her sword and paced, still feeling that same sense of dread. The air was thick, like how it hangs and buzzes before the rain. “Something’s not right,” she murmured.

Cassandra shook her head, placing her hand in comfort on Laurel's back. “Solas confirms the skies are scarred but calm. The Breach has been sealed,” she reasoned. But the words do nothing to calm the Herald. 

Laurel took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes as they tried to find…something. She remembered. When she was in the future, someone was looking for her. The Elder One. “It’s not that,” she says in response to Cassandra. She swears she hears a faint rumbling, like a storm coming.

Bells start to ring and Cullen comes racing toward them in a panic. “Forces approach,” he bellows. They are under attack. The Elder One has come for her. She has closed his gateway to the Fade.

* * *

 

Laurel swung hard but the blade was caught, griped by the Templar’s hand. The Templar swung from her left, connecting the hilt of his sword to her chin before she could raise her shield. The blow knocked her back into a stumble with a gasp of pain. She pulled on the blade, twisting it from his hand and cutting his palm deeply. He straddled over her, griping his sword with both hands as he raised it high to pierce her.  Bringing her shield up from her fallen position she rolled and caught under his blade, forcing it up and opening his torso long enough to thrust her blade into his bowels.

“That’s going to make his morning shit a little painful tomorrow,” she said pushing the Templar’s limp body off her.

Quickly she rose to her feet and sprinted toward her goal. She was close to the trebuchet’s controls now. A hooded mage came from her flanks, fire erupting from his staff. She winced, sucking in air as a flame caught her forearm before she could lift her shield.   She heard an arrow wiz past her ear and the mage went down, caught by Sera’s arrows.

“What did I say? Magic me and I put three in your eye! Assholes,” Sera screeched as she drew her bow again.  

Lady Trevelyan rose again, diving for the controls, using every ounce of strength and weight she held to turn the wheel. She grunted loudly with each turn. Behind her she could hear Dorian cursing. She didn’t know the words, but there was no mistaking the tone for swearing.

Finally he said something recognizable. “Mistook that one for the ass end of a nug,” he laughed. “Bit too crispy for my liking though.” 

He was doing his best to keep the Templars who rushed them far enough away, trying to allow the Herald enough time to finish winding the chain. He stood at the rear, casting spells while Bull rushed forward swinging his maul at the front.

“Damn that felt good,” Bull roared as he took down a raging Templar.

They were close, a few more turns and the trebuchet would be fully loaded. Frantically Laurel wound the handle. She looked back to let Dorian know she was nearly done, but before she could utter a sound, she lost her grip suddenly and pulled away in pain. She turned back forward with a sudden gasp as a shield came down from above and bashed her fingers on the control’s handle. She screamed as the pain throbbed in her hands and turned to see a glaring face, smiling and maddened with bloodlust. She recoiled at the sight of him. It was the man Cullen said he recognized, the Templar leading the attack that stood next to the Elder One. That meant the creature must be close.

She fell back, crawling backwards searching for her shield. She must have thrown it down when she dove for the controls. She found it and pulled it to her front before he swung again. His strength was incredible as it came down upon her. A weaker shield would have cracked at the force. Laurel yelped as more pain seared through her shield arm, feeling it would tear at her shoulder with another blow. She scrambled to pull her sword free from her belt. The man growled above her as a wave of fire burned him from Dorian’s staff. “Dorian, again!” she bellowed.

With the distraction she was able to shuffle to her feet and take a defensive stance. The man arched in pain in front of her. Iron Bull was at his flanks and had swung his maul hard down his back. With his attention turned, Laurel rushed forward with her shield, focusing every bit of power she had left into a hard shield bash. Her shield connected and sent him to the ground and her toppling over in a roll. When she gained her bearings she looked back where he fell, he was gone. All the Templars were gone. At least they had broken a hole in the wave of attack. If she was going to launch the trebuchet, it was now or never.

Trevelyan stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide in absolute fear. A voiced called. It took her a moment to realize it came from her own throat. She squealed in a high pitched howl, but something even more deafening roared in the sky. She felt as though the words came out in slow motion. “Draaaaaaaaagon!” 

The trebuchet exploded and sent them all flying back. Laurel could only guess had many times she twisted through the air before she met the ground with a hard thud. Her ears rang in agony from the blast. Reorienting herself she looked around for her companions. “Go,” she screamed to the others. “Get inside!” The battle was lost. They could not fight a dragon.

 It took her what felt like an eternity before she was able to raise to her feet again. Everything ached as she pushed herself from the ground in a desperate scramble. She need to run. She sprinted, her legs carrying her faster than they ever had reason to before but it still felt they were not fast enough. They trembled under her, threatening to give way at any moment.

Lady Trevelyan’s fingers hit the ground as she faltered slightly taking a sharp turn around the corner toward the gate. At the great doors, Commander Cullen stood beckoning as many as he could into the village. His face became even more urgent as he realized it was the Herald running at him. She had not yet been lost. Their eyes locked as she fled toward him. She could see the desperation in his eyes and could not hide the sheer terror in hers. Her face was twisted into panic and her eyes were darkened with fear. She could feel her entire being shaking and her legs becoming weaker. 

She watched Cullen’s eyes go above her head and his mouth began to gape open. Another shrieking roar wracked the skies. She looked back in time to see giant, blackened wings beating overhead. The beast’s wings swept through the air causing winds like she had never felt that forced her to the ground. Her face hit the gravel and she winced, gasping for breath as she looked up. She felt hands pulling at her, bringing her to her feet quickly. “Herald! Move it,” Commander Cullen boomed as he tugged at her arm.

The dragon circled again and reared its head, spitting a ball of hot flame toward the gate and directly in their path. Reacting quickly Commander Cullen threw them both to the ground as the beast spewed its burning inferno. On instinct he dove to protect her, covering her body with his and pulling his shield over them to block as much of the blistering heat as possible. As the monster breathed its destruction over their bodies, she could feel Cullen’s arms wrap around her tightly and he shook in fear as much as she. His nose was pressed to her ear and she could hear how ragged and shaking his breath had become even through her own whimpers. When the red fire around them subsided and they sensed the beast had gone, they both pushed from the ground with haste and rushed forward. The finally reached the gate.

Cullen was immediately shouting commands, ordering the gates closed and barred. “Our fortifications will not be enough against that beast! Everyone back to the Chantry!”   

Laurel stood in awe looking around, leaning on her knees trying to catch her breath. Around her the world was burning and in chaos. She pressed her head at her temples and dropped to the ground as she was brought back to a similar scene she had witnesses before. At the circle in Ostwick it had been the same: explosions and screaming and death. The burning village and the screams and the yelling, it reminded her of the day she lost her brother. She panicked. She couldn’t do this, not again. She closed her eyes and felt her breath quicken, it was too fast and burning at her chest. She was shaken from everything that had transpired and it showed.

Something snapped her from her stupor. Her eyes shot open when she heard a cry for help. She was brought back to the present, realizing there were people who still needed her and she could not break, not now. People were still inside the buildings that burnt around her and someone needed to help them. She could hear Commander Cullen issuing orders again and then the screams again. She didn't even think, she just reacted on instinct and ran to where she had heard the screams coming from. Something was barring the door when she reached it. She kicked at it and kicked it again and it would not budge.

Cullen came running after her. "What do you think you're doing, join the others. Go to the Chantry, now!" he bellowed.

She wouldn't leave them, she couldn't. “No! I have to do this!”

He shook his head at her wide eyed and bewildered. He was breathing heavily still, even through his armor she could see how his whole body rose with his chest as he tried to draw breath. His eyes moved from hers to the direction of the Chantry as he struggled. Finally he gave in. "Then let’s get them out.”

Cullen used his shoulder to try to break the door, but it still wasn't moving. The people inside were still screaming. They were running out of time. The Herald looked up and saw a way she could climb to the top and drop through the roof that was already half burnt away. She looked at him pleading for his future forgiveness for her next course of action and pulled herself up without waiting for his permission. When he realized what she was doing the look he gave made her think a brick would fall right from his ass. Either this was going to kill her or he was.

The villagers had stacked crates at the door, presumably for protection, but their shelter almost became their coffin once the dragon had set fire to the village. The man inside was already gone, taken by the flames, but by the looks of it he had shielded the two women from harm. When the Herald dropped down, their faces lit like their savior had dropped from the sky, sent from the heavens. Laurel shook her head. This wasn't going to help her whole ‘I'm not holy’ stance. She started kicking at the crates and they crumbled and split. She called out to Cullen that they were ready and he rammed his shoulder into the door again and this time it gave way. "If my hair turns gray after this, it's your fault," he griped. She gave him an apologetic look and even though he was glaring at her in a scold, she could see he had already let his true anger fade. Her actions were certainly admirable, he could not be angry with her for that.  "Now hurry before that Maker forsaken beast comes back around to finish us off." In that moment, it suddenly dawned on Laurel how glad she was that he was the one who waited for her at the gate and more than glad he was with her now. He had saved her life, and now together they had saved more. 

This time she obeyed his command and ran toward the Chantry, but it didn't take long before she stopped again. When they passed close to the tavern they could hear more calls for help. This time it only took a quick look and he understood. He nodded in concurrence and they moved to find the entrance together. Laurel stood back and let him kick the door. It flew open, much easier than the last had. He went in and she followed. There were only two people who had been trapped in the tavern. Cullen went to one and the Herald went to the other and both were drug out. The man Cullen helped was able to come to his feet, but the woman wasn't. Laurel started to drag her, but without hesitation Cullen grabbed her and carried her the rest of the way to the Chantry and handed her off once the doors had closed at their rear.

Finally they made it inside. When Lady Trevelyan came in and every eye lay upon her, the relief on every face became clear. Their Herald had made it, but who knew for how long. Who knew how much longer any of them would last with a dragon looming overhead? It seemed they were merely delaying death.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I will admit this is my first fan fiction ever, and I plan on it being a big one. I just had so many ideas swirling in my head I had to write it out somewhere. I love the character of Lady Trevelyan and I think there is so much more to her than can be portrayed in the game. There's a reason she is so strong. I hope I can get my ideas and story across in a coherent way. When I wrote this I had randomly come up with some of the names, then I started watching Arrow and realized I had made an archer named Oliver and my protagonist's name is Laurel and that was an oops.


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